Twist Your Hair
by Zeraphie
Summary: Changes happen fast, even for a speedster. When he falls for someone else for the first time in years, sometimes it's easier jumping hurdles and spraining ankles on one track than switching to another. RobKF, RAKF. DickxWally, RoyxWally.
1. Kinda Like Photosynthesis

_Disclaimer__**: **__I don't own Young Justice._

**Chapter 1:** Kinda Like Photosynethesis.

Things change.

And when things change, no one seems to understand that just because you're Flash, the Flash, a Flash, Flash-hybrid, you don't have a hard time coming to terms with things. Wally knows well, with the tight squeeze in his heart, how fast things can change. As a Flash you're supposed to have all the time in the world. People think that you move fast, but what they don't know is that the world just moves _slow._ So when things change, they're slow changes.

Wally doesn't expect things to stay the same.

If things stayed the same, then he would still be living with his parents. If they were the same, Iris West wouldn't have legally adopted him when he was fourteen. He would still be that dorky kid who idolized the Flash.

But things did change. Bad things; good things. He's nineteen and in college now. At first he'd always thought about going off to the Police Academy; about being a forensic scientist just like his uncle. In…_honor_ of his uncle. But he doesn't, because he's _not_ his uncle.

He'd taken the uniform off when he was seventeen. The familiar shocking yellow, the warmth of a blooming red. He was a bud, Aunt Iris used to say. A bud that would bloom beautifully into the most extravagant flower in the world, and some day that was all the world would see: a stunning Wally West who's become a man. He knows about photosynthesis. About how flowers change with the seasons; of their cell walls and when the sun hits them, they look beautiful.

And things have to change in order for flowers to bloom.

But Dick—there are so many things about Dick that Wally doesn't want Dick to change. The way his eyes glisten brightly when the sunlight hits them. The way his skin is creamy, milky, and how his thin lips brighten the world. He likes how when Dick looks at him, his heart feels like it'll vibrate right through his chest. He likes that when Dick smiles, it carries on the urge for Wally to smile. He likes that when Dick laughs, Wally feels he can close his eyes and reach Neverland, where happiness never ends and where they can totally kick Hook's ass and get Tinkerbelle to make them fly.

He likes that when Dick looks at him, he still feels human. Dick can make him feel like a little kid and forget his responsibilities.

Dick is immortal to Wally and he believes Dick is the best thing that's ever happened to him. But Dick's leaving.

"Why?" he asks. Sometimes he forgets that Dick isn't that little eleven-year-old kid anymore; the one that took him to the Batcave. The very first person that Robin's ever taken to the Batcave. Dick is seventeen, and has gotten accepted to Stanford, Princeton, and Harvard. Wally goes to a university in Kansas and rides on his scholarships. It's that short age gap that feels like a Marianas trench because Wally's in college. He clings onto Dick because he fears he may fall if he doesn't.

Dick is unpacking boxes in his penthouse. Even if Wally worked overtime at his job back in Keystone he'd still only be able to afford a one-studio. Roy complains about his a lot. Dick doesn't look at him. "Why, what?"

"You left the team," Wally says softly. He's got an exam in about twenty minutes he hasn't studied for and doesn't care. Dick has always been more important. Will always.

It's not the right thing to say, and it's those mild differences Wally's noticing again. Dick pauses, hand in a stiff position as he pulls out old photo albums to stuff under his new bed, and doesn't turn to him. Wally wishes he could see blue eyes. "So did you."

He had no choice. And it's different. "I wasn't the _leader._"

"It was never the same without you." Dick smiles ruefully and for some reason—_not some reason, __**that**__ reason_-it makes Wally's heart flutter. Dick turns around, leans against his new mattress and crosses his arms.

"I couldn't stay."

"You went with _him._"

"The JLA needed a speedster. I'm—I'm it." Wally doesn't like how he, a nineteen-year-old college student, is getting nervous in front of a high school twerp. But that isn't it because Dick knows him better than anyone. He knows how to hit a sore spot; how to scrape against Wally's heart so gruesomely that it bleeds tears. "Bruce was—"

It's like a dance that he doesn't know he was in, because Dick's stature suddenly tightens. He's taller now. Only two inches shorter than Wally himself, but there's coolness that glazes in Dick's blue eyes. It's been swelling—_blooming_ since Day One like a field of lilacs. Batman's name should feel funny on his tongue, but it doesn't. It should burn because Dick and he had another one of their fights, but it _doesn't._ It's as familiar as referring to Dick, and Wally promises he'll never tell his best friend his tendencies: the way Dick's chest juts out just like Bruce's, or the fact they both prefer unsweetened tea over a Zesti.

Dick snorts, and Wally can't help with the forensic science background that interprets that snort: _you're weak._ Dick thinks there's a hidden message; from those two years ago, and in the present Wally still isn't sure if there wasn't. That he can deny it. Bruce and Dick have spent so much time together; developing so many similarities that Dick's psyche edges into sickening paranoia—something Bruce could never isolate himself from. Because in an essence, that _is_ Batman, and Dick isn't Batman. Doesn't want to be.

"You're the leader," Wally says again, voice choking.

"Things change," Dick says back. His voice is no longer that whiny nerd voice; the one that'd recite math formulas and computer coding like it was no big deal. It's still the voice of a teenager, yet is so close to breaking the barrier into adulthood.

Wally doesn't want them to.

"Conner. Kon. He's got a name now. Going through high school, just like me." Dick picks up something at the bottom of the box, and it's funny because it's Robin, Bear Wonder. Wally had given it to him as a joke three years ago. "Megan is honing her skills, Kaldur's stationed in Atlantis, you. You're up in space all the time."

"But Robin's still Robin," Wally says, and there's a strain in his throat. It hurts; watching that little, happy-go-lucky kid turn into the tight and alluring man in front of him. To see him change. Because Wally doesn't know him anymore.

Not when Dick's hand squeezes Bear Wonder so tightly that one of the ugly eyes fall out. "Dick Grayson isn't Robin anymore."

"What are you going to do?" Wally asks, and he tries to keep his voice calm. He wants to punch Dick in the face; tell Dick to stay the same, otherwise…otherwise Wally won't be able to stay sane. "You grew up as a superhero."

It's _that_ smile again, when Dick smiles. Rueful and bitter and lacking the laugh Dick had shed two years ago when Uncle Barry died and Wally became the Flash. "I'll put the pixie boots down for good. Find a new identity. Form a new team."

He's trippy, Wally wants to say. "Everything you've known has been—"

"With Batman." Dick's smile is missing lilacs. It's intimidating, sexy and…hot. "I'll form a team; where we have our own rules. Won't operate under the league." Won't be with _me_, Wally doesn't say. "A team with outsiders, where we work by our methods."

"But—" Wally doesn't know what to say. What Uncle Barry would do in this situation, or what _he_ should do in this situation. Compared to Dick's bold declaration getting into the League as the Flash suddenly sounds like Wally's had someone hold his hands for years.

"We're different now, Wally." Dick doesn't miss a beat. "I'm different."

And Wally doesn't like it. Not one bit. He stands up and wants to say something. To capture Dick with a heartwrenching kiss and hold him tightly, like if he doesn't then Dick will disappear from the face of the planet.

But Dick is thinking about himself. He's thinking about his future, and the way Wally is under that blue-eyed gaze he senses part of a leer. A silent message that screams in Wally's face and locks his heart up all over again.

Wally's not in any of these plans and he suspected he wouldn't be; just didn't think it'd hurt so much.

"I've got a test in ten minutes," Wally says. He doesn't look Dick in the eye before leaving out the front door. He doesn't say goodbye. Neither does Dick.

Wally runs back to Keystone City with a foul taste in his mouth.

**-x-**

Wally's not surprised if he makes a 'C' on the test. He wasn't focused when he was taking it and spent half the previous night taking down the Rogues and Gorilla Grodd. The other half was when Dick called him in the middle of the night, obviously after having blown off steam, and spent an hour ranting to Wally about what Bruce had done _that_ time. It's easy, really, to say that he could pin the blame on his best friend, but between Watchtower and Titans Tower, he sees both sides.

Young Justice is over. Has been, since Artemis Crock's death. She's remembered as a hero, and it's hard to mention her name in passing without the inexplicable emotion that causes Wally's entire stomach to collapse into a black hole.

Between Bruce and Dick Wally sees both sides and always wishes Uncle Barry was still around so he wasn't at crossroads. As the Flash—the very third Flash, Wally sees the way Batman's lips curl into a snarl and his struggle to understand Dick. He sees Bruce trying to shove that last nugget of information into Dick's mind because he knows Dick is ready, but misinterprets Dick's independent actions as rashness in his judgment. Dick thinks he knows everything now; that he's now had nearly ten years of training and that he doesn't need someone to coddle him. He misinterprets Bruce's attempts to understand him as means of _control_, and, well, wants to leave the nest.

Bruce has the league.

When Dick needs a shoulder to cry on, Wally is there in a flash. Nowadays Dick has gotten better at brooding and sulking rather than lashing out and cussing in forty different languages pirates would be jealous of. Dick is smart, trained, and can handle himself.

And Wally doesn't care. If Dick suddenly lost his leg, Wally would drop college in a heartbeat and donate all two of his just so Boy Wonder could walk.

It's not a secret in the superhero community about his feelings. There may be forty-billion misinterpretations, where people depict Dick and his 'bromance' as an actual romance, or depict the romance as a bromance. Wally never runs away. But secretly, if he could run away from Dick—run away from these _feelings_, then Wally would do it in an instant. His feelings for Dick are as much a curse as they are a blessing and to find someone who can snip the false-red strings that attach him to Dick; to lift the strain and weakness on Wally's own heart, he would love them.

But he can't. No one can measure up to Dick. _No one._

After Artemis's death the team had broken up. Kid Flash became a hero no more because Wally desperately wanted to get into a good college, Superboy was exploring life as Conner, Miss M trained more than ever, and Kaldur went back to Atlantis. When Robin proposed the Teen Titans, the team had been back together—though hesitantly. Roy was still gone. Few people stayed; along with some new others. Beast Boy was a new one, and he'd heard of Raven. Megan came back and Conner came back. Kaldur sent a replacement.

Wally had been in his first month of college when sixteen-year-old Robin assaulted him in September.

That September, Kid Flash ran his heart out, chest fluttering and ears tingling each time Robin barked an order.

The following October, Kid Flash was but a myth; like an urban legend. But there was a new Flash now. Wally wasn't Uncle Barry, but for a solid year he'd worked to catch up to the hero he thought he'd never be. Dick helped him every step of the way after Barry died.

And in sickening defeat, Wally knew Dick saved him from falling into unhealthy depression. Saved his life.

No strings attached.

Dick's hardened from his years in Gotham. He's tough from working alongside Batman, and holds his title as leader dearly to the Titans.

Wally wishes they could take a step back four years; when Dick was still that scrawny kid who could jump across buildings, Superboy had his picture in the dictionary right next to the phrase, 'socially awkward,' Megan was his world, Artemis was his nemesis, and Kaldur was like one of his brothers. Roy was his other brother. Someone Wally told everything to.

So he decides after his crap-exam to go visit Roy. Except…maybe stop for diapers first.

Roy isn't as active as he used to be when it comes to being Red Arrow. When Uncle Hal—_no, just __**Hal**_-extended an invitation to finally join the league on his own worth, Roy had already created his own image. His own methods, and just like Dick now, Roy is an outsider to the Justice League.

His twenty-second birthday is coming up, and Wally thinks it might be a good idea to buy Roy a new bow. His only problem being he doesn't know what the hell kind of wood Roy prefers. Roy may be obsessed with adrenaline, but Wally's sure with his Navajo heritage, Roy wants something…sacred, almost.

It's easier to shop for Roy than it is Dick.

For one thing, Roy appreciates the small things in life and, while unintentional, Dick tends to have an expensive taste. Wally once saved up all his allowance to buy a new wrench set for Dick to work on his R-Cycle, but by the time Dick's birthday rolled around, he learned Dick used tools specially chosen by Batman. Tools made out of metal Wally would spend four lifetimes to raise money for and even then he'd be able to afford maybe half a pound.

Dick isn't awfully materialistic, and certain years Wally buys him mock-gifts like Robin, Bear Wonder. He's gotten over that stage now—_seventeen_, for crying out loud. They used to take pictures or have pictures taken together. People thought they went together like macaroni and cheese.

They stopped taking pictures together after the Incident. Dick never says anything and Wally often chases it out of his mind, but whenever they're together they know the giant elephant is also in the room; suffocating and waiting for one of them to crack. Dick never gives full-body hugs now.

He stiffens when Wally touches him even though it's been a good two years-and-then-some, and though Dick looks him in the eye Wally knows Dick's piercing, lilac-less gaze is forcing its way through nineteen years of idiocy and ignoring six years of a torturous, accursed romance.

Wally knows he can call himself the Flash, hone his own city—_go off to fucking college_-and Dick will still make him feel stupid. Unaccomplished.

Unchanging.

Roy's lived in a new apartment aside from the one-studio he owned when around Wally's age. It's in a nicer part of Star City and although he doesn't operate on Ollie's terms anymore, Wally knows they're speaking to one another. That they're in good relations. They have been since Uncle Barry's death. And surprisingly? It's Roy who extended the apology; who swallowed his pride and made amends with Ollie.

He's not surprised when it's Black Canary—his old combat mentor—who opens the door. Dinah stares at him, decked out in what apparently passes for civvies in Star City, looks down to the pack of diapers, and smiles. "Hungry?"

Wally smiles almost shyly. "You bet."

Dinah opens the door wider without second thought, turns her head, and goes to the small room that works like a kitchen. Wally looks around the apartment, closes the door behind him, and listens idly to the newsman talk about Star City and some cat that apparently stopped a fire or something.

"I volunteered to babysit Lian for a few hours," Dinah says in good conversation. It's funny, Wally thinks. As Wally West he gets the full motherly doting from Aunt Iris, but he can never escape that feeling in the Watchtower as Dinah and the rest of the elder leaguers dote on him like a little kid.

"She doing well?" Wally asks almost awkwardly.

"She's only six months old. Getting bigger every day." Her lips twist knowingly and she passes a subsandwich across the counter. "Roy needs a break once in a while. Stretch his legs."

"I know the feeling." With his metabolism, Wally could finish the sandwich in seconds. He doesn't want to, honestly, and takes bites in low strides. They sit in silence; each eating their own sandwiches, and flip through the news channel like it's nothing. It's nice to know, Wally thinks with a small smile, Dinah still sees him as _him._

It's half an hour later that Lian starts crying from the nursery. Roy still isn't back yet while Dinah excuses herself to comfort the poor child, and Wally's already done with his classes. He could talk to Dinah; tell Dinah to talk sense into Dick, but it's a bitter taste on his tongue now, when he says Dick's name in public.

He steps into the room adjacent to the nursery, eyes sifting through warm red walls. Wally's exhausted. He crawls into the bed, closes his eyes, and dreams like the little boy who wanted to meet his greatest hero.

**-x-**

It's dusk when Wally finally wakes up. Bruce might mangle him for being late for monitor duty. He wouldn't be surprised; not after Dick's haste-though-not-really-haste decision to move out of the Wayne Manor into a penthouse. Dick isn't particularly business-savvy, but much like Bruce, Dick can be a charmer. He's probably feeding off scholarship money, just to piss Bruce off. If Wally ever moves from his place on Roy's comfy mattress, he already knows how the conversation will go when he gets to the Watchtower.

Shayera will give him a playful look and tease him for adopting Barry's habit of being late. She'll have an entrée of enchiladas and iced mochas for him to eat, whether or not he's already _had_ dinner. Uncle John and Uncle Hal—_John and Hal_ will join in the good-natured teasing and ask him how his day went and what kept him away.

John'll scold him for the low score on his exam. Clark'll say if he needs the time off to study for college, he's welcome to it. Diana'll offer to give him a massage.

And like always, Wally will smile, shake his head, and sink into a conversation his full-heart isn't in. He'll wonder to himself, _Is this what Uncle Barry would do?_,and look into the eyes of everyone who crosses him. The JLA isn't anything like Young Justice; back when Wally was a stupid fifteen-year-old kid who didn't worry as much.

Who thought about the way light hits Dick's eyes, and how the blue gleams with gentle lilacs. It's tougher. It's about independent heroes who want to help people—who _are_ the mentors. They're the front-line. Not covert. Not always astrous. No Dick, to come swinging in his scaly underoos and pixie boots.

The lamplight on the nightstand suddenly turns on. KFC chicken, thickly scented, wafts into Wally's nostrils and his stomach grumbles faster than his eyes flutter open. Wally looks up to the plate, sees ketchup, and four chicken breasts, and a long arm that breaks off from a redheaded trunk.

"Look what we found in Daddy's bed, Lian." The amusement in Roy's tone makes the blood in Wally's skin shudder. Two of the past four years have been spent taking the blows from Roy's spouts of anger, and watching his other best friend with a languid smile always brings the color back to his own face.

Makes him look back while he's running and never regret his path forward. A smirk coils across Wally's face, weary and pinched, but the familiar flutter at the tips of Wally's fingers makes him not care. "You let her see _everyone_ that's in your bed?"

Roy smirks back, amusement returning to his voice as he sets the plate on Wally's lap. "Only the ones I like."

Wally smiles, muttering a quiet thanks, and stares at the chicken. It's his favorite, and Wally knows Star City well enough that there isn't a KFC around. The fact Roy went out of his way to get some is surprising. Roy's lips are slowly graced with their own smile, and it's different from Dick's. These days most of Dick's smiles are forced, sarcastic, or bittersweet. They're different from the mischievous little boy whose laugh haunted the underworld of Gotham and lack the joy.

With Roy's smiles, they're almost leers. Roy has been trained with deathly accuracy and sharpness like one of his bows. When Roy smiles, it hits Wally square in the chest and pierces through the last two years of shit.

Their silence has grown a little awkward. Suffocating, sort of, as Wally picks on his windbreaker and looks away. "I…I have monitor duty tonight. Won't be staying long."

Lian gurgles. Wally's been told stories about Lian's birth. Roy had fallen in love while on an undercover mission, and after Lian's birth, Cheshire disappeared. No one has seen her since those six months ago, and Roy never brings her up. Wally knows it isn't his place to pry. When Lian giggles again, chubby hands waving in the air, Roy seconds her apparent notion.

He says with dry wit, "Uncle Jerkface apparently doesn't want to spend any time with us, Lian. He's apparently too good to tell Daddy why he's here."

"Dude—_sour sauce-_"

"Uncle Jerkface is apparently _mad._" Roy's voice is filled with so much deadpan that Wally isn't sure whether to take him seriously or glare. He pulls the small child tightly against his chest and saunters out of the room. "C'mon, Uncle Jerkface. I don't want to fall asleep to the stench of chicken."

Wally glares but says nothing. He follows Roy out of the room and waits as Lian is put in a high-chair.

Anyone who doesn't know Roy well would say that he's changed. Different. He's not the smug hotshot archer Ollie's taken in as a ward, or the snarky hothead that won't drop a fight until he's won. What Wally sees is the same man he's known for six years: the man that has a large heart, firm hug, and voice that doesn't soothe. Dick's voice is soothing. Roy's voice is structure.

He partly wonders if someday he could be just like Roy. If…if he could have his own kids, find a woman who knows his very essence, and smile the way Roy smiles whenever he looks at Lian. If Wally has a daughter he automatically knows he'd name her Iris, for the woman who raised him like a son. He imagines a son named Barry—or even Henry; Barry's middle name.

Richard Henry West.

Suddenly the smile drops from Wally's face and he shoves away both the thought and crushes a chicken breast like it's his head. The last thing he wants to do is name a son after a boy he's been in love with since he was thirteen. Boy that rejected him even though everyone else thought he'd accept.

"This is about Dick, isn't it?" Roy's voice returns to its normal sternness. It isn't harsh. Roy's voice has never been harsh when it comes to Wally. It doesn't make him feel incompetent, stupid, and in need of a therapist.

"He quit the team last week and gave leadership to Vic." Wally looks down to his fingers. They're stained with oil, ketchup, and bits of crispy chicken. "He…quit being Robin last night."

Roy snorts, like there's a joke that's been said that Wally doesn't understand, then treks into the kitchen and pulls out baby food. Wally silently zips through drawers until he finds a baby bib, then returns and ties it around Lian's neck. "Dick can't handle something without making a scene about it."

"Dick tries to be subtle," Wally says quietly. He doesn't know why he's vouching for his best friend. Even now, when he's frustrated that Dick's moving forward with his life and forgetting all his friends. Forgetting…_him._ When he says subtle, he's referring to a particular circumstance, and Roy's picked it up before Wally can put it down.

In this house, it's never about Wally's feelings for Dick.

Dick can rule Wally's life all he wants, but Roy doesn't shove it in his face about where Wally stands when it comes to his best friend, and he's absolutely grateful. Roy holds a baby spoon in his hand and Lian claps happily. "Dick is a dick."

Wally bites back a smile. "His name's Dick."

"No. He _is_ a dick." Roy smirks. It's part of the old Roy that shows up with the familiar chivalry and haughtiness that makes part of the weight vanish from Wally's heart. "He forgets his age, too, you know. Most kids his age don't deal with creeps like Penguin or Joker. Dick's gotten to the point where he thinks if he doesn't put the weight on his shoulders, no one will."

They stand together now with Roy cooing food into Lian's mouth and Wally wiping the bits of mashed peas that don't make it down Lian's esophagus. She babbles short syllables, reaches out for the spoon, and gleams with her father's rarely seen smile.

"They'll look to me to bring him back," Wally says softly. Roy's having trouble the fourth time getting the spoon in Lian's mouth, so Wally swipes it, pretends it's an airplane, and Lian eats it with a toothless grin.

Roy laughs. It's as empty as Wally's chest feels. "Same as always."

"Yeah," Wally replies. They'll look to him to bring Dick back, and Wally will plead Dick to reconsider. Dick'll shrug him off and push him away. Further, until Wally hears a sickening crack in his ears and Dick's so far away he might as well be on Mars. And Wally's heart will still throb. "Things haven't change."

Roy hums in agreement and they continue feeding Lian in silence. At some point she gurgles and coos and Wally sees more mashed peas end up on her bib rather than mouth. By the time they're done Lian's been put down for the night, already asleep in her crib before Roy even turns the light off and after she's been given a bath. He's as wet as a rat from Lian splashing and completely soaked, but looks unfazed at the fact his daughter nearly drowned him.

He guides Wally to his room, offering a wry, _Roy_ smirk, and tosses clothes to an only half-drenched Wally. Roy is, contrary to popular belief, a good conversationalist. He knows what to say at exactly the right time, but Wally's gotten so used to Roy's heartfelt silences that he likes _talking_ to them. He remembers sneaking out and breaking curfew on school nights when Uncle Barry knew he'd go to Star City. To talk to Roy's silences, sit with his anger, and hug Roy like in a second it'll go away.

But nowadays the change between them is so different that it's almost suffocating. Wally's silences have their own loud, terrifying voice and Roy talks straight through them. Just like now.

"What are you going to do?" He asks as he changes out of his shirt into a new one. There are scars, Wally notices, adorning Roy's chest. Almost like art.

It's been at least an hour and a half, so Wally knows he's already missed a good chunk of monitor duty. He shrugs. "I'll do what's asked of me." Nothing else is said, then Wally stands up, silently sliding the Flash ring on his finger. They've relocated to the living room where empty plates of KFC chicken rest on the coffee table.

"Do you want him to come back?"

_I want my life back, when Uncle Barry was still alive, Artemis was still up my ass, and Dick's smile smelled like lilacs. _Wally says nothing—especially not the last one—and instead keeps his mouth shut tighter. He doesn't want this Dick back. He doesn't want the Dick that clearly does not want anyone else. That doesn't want _him._

"You used to automatically say yes to something like that." Roy doesn't scoff, he just looks to the TV. Without Lian cuddled on his lap Roy looks like someone fresh out of college and looking ready to start a life. He seems so solid and tangible compared to what Wally feels, and so mature. A race Wally can run, and he won't suffocate from debris. He pulls fingers through the knots in his hair, bites his lip, and controls his pulse. Roy continues. "You don't need to do something just because you feel obligated to."

"You mean be like you," Wally says, fingers cradling the ring tightly around his knuckle. He's referring to all those years back when they extended an invitation to Young Justice, or even a year ago when the Titans were first formed. Roy hasn't joined any of them—even if the latter team was to make a name for themselves. Wally doesn't have much to say—he only stuck around for a month before the JLA needed them.

"No," Roy says. It's a calm tone, almost like Uncle Barry used to speak with him. "Be what you want to be."

It's terribly cliché, and such an over-used phrase that Wally shouldn't get choked up over, but he does. The TV is deaf in his ears, and Roy looks incredibly, terrifyingly tangible from where Wally's standing. His cheeks dust with—maybe not pink, but something nice. Hopeful. A starry feeling swells in Wally's chest and he stares at Roy's blue eyes with stun.

"I," Roy says. _I._ Not the _Titans_ need you, or the _League_ needs you, but _Roy_, "don't want you to feel tied down to anything. Not now, not ever."

Wally's heart skips a beat. Roy's standing parallel to him and he can feel the heat flutter from his best friend's chest. It's stable. Calming.

"Smile more," Roy continues, voice constructed and serious. "You look fucked up without one, West."

"I…Roy." Wally's throat goes dry. "Roy…_Roy._" He feels like an idiot but doesn't particularly know why. Roy's callused fingers graze his jaw line, rugged and terse against his freckled skin, and his chest wants to wrap tightly around that feeling. "…what the hell is _that_ grin for?"

"You've got ketchup and chicken on your chin. Messy eater." Roy's lips curl into a smirk and he flips the crumbs from under his fingers. "Come by anytime. Lian likes her Uncle Jerkface."

"…okay." Wally's eyes end up at his feet as they say goodbye to one another. By the time the door closes behind him, he already wants to visit Roy again.

**-x-**

**Author's Note:**

So this may be hard to believe, but I've actually been working on this story since around April. It's pretty long and at the moment, it's all I can really offer you. :) I'll post an explanation as to why this is the first you've heard of me maybe with next week's update, but focusing on this one—this is what I would like to call my current, favorite, and easiest to write project at the moment. Obviously Roy/Wally isn't a large fanbase, but it's got a pretty core one, doesn't it? Baha. There are gonna be quite a few comic references in this story, if you haven't noticed. This was originally a request on the YJAM that spiraled on its own, and—well, if I posted it, actually, you may not feel as enthralled in the story. So, I hope you like it so far and hope you'll read more!


	2. Just a Call Away

**Chapter 2:** Just a Call Away

The Watchtower is filled with chatter once Wally beams up in the Flash uniform that's amazingly snug. He's gotten used to the fact that it fits him too well—almost like it was meant for him, and he's gotten used to the looks other leaguers would give him. Dinah smiles, offers him a croissant, and he takes it despite the fact he isn't hungry. She grins, ruffles his hair, and roundhouse kicks him.

Wally dodges, sidestepping impact by barely a second, and munches on the croissant heartily. He doesn't know Dinah as well as Roy does—can _never_ know Dinah as well as Roy does, but she always makes him think of Aunt Iris. It isn't the face, or even the attitude, but when BC smiles, Wally can feel the little vines of ivy twist upon her lips and the tender gaze that describes Dinah's very essence. She isn't gentle—otherwise she wouldn't be a fighter, but when Dinah looks at Wally she reminds him of everything he's been taught. By her, by Aunt Iris—by Uncle Barry.

"You left," he says between bites. They're in the cafeteria and Wally realizes he has to look down at her. He's probably going through another growth spurt.

"You fell asleep," Dinah remarks. "And Roy came home. I'm only the little one's babysitter, kid."

He suddenly frowns, remembering what time he'd woken up. "You let Roy stay away from Lian until nine?"

Apparently he's missing something because Dinah looks back, mildly amused, and softly chuckles. "Let's see…what time did you visit, hon? Three. He came back 'round 5:30."

"But…" That doesn't make sense. "I woke up at _nine_ and he was just getting in with food."

"Probably decided to feed you, knowing you'd eat the entire league if given the chance." Dinah apparently knows something he doesn't. She laughs softly, almost like a bird's croon, then sighs. "He's a good kid."

A very good kid. "He's fantastic."

The words leave Wally's mouth before Dinah is given the chance to bat an eyelash, and he can feel his chest grow with warmth. His cheeks, too, dash with bashful pink and they tingle from where Roy had brushed off stupid crumbs of KFC chicken. Was it possible that Roy bought chicken for _him?_

Dinah bellows as much as a woman can, and in her stiletto heels she looks even shorter. She lifts the cowl between her fingers, pulls it over his head, and red spiky hair meshes into Wally's scalp. Behind the opaque lenses, he sees her face—sees how her eyes sparkle like Aunt Iris's, and she places a hand on his chest along with a kiss to his cheek. She's too short and it's kind of funny. "Don't you have monitor duty?"

"Well, I'm already late for it." Wally gives a half-attempted smirk, takes two steps back, and readies himself to zoom through the Watchtower.

"See you later, Wally."

"You too, Aunt—_Dinah._" He turns around, attention focused entirely on his destination toward the computers, and zips away. People wave at him—say, _Hi, Flash_ as he passes by, and he smiles in return. It's all he can do at this speed as he watches their faces pass by as a blur. He's forgotten to ask Black Canary about what kind of archer's bow he should buy Roy and makes a mental note to ask her later.

When he finally makes it to the monitor room, the founding members are there to greet him. The scent of enchiladas and iced mochas hits his nostrils hard—nothing like the croissant Dinah offered him. Hal's looking over the systems with John hovering over his shoulder and Clark's frowning.

Batman stares at him like he wants to say something, but doesn't.

"You're late," Shayera teases. She smoothes out the nonexistent wrinkles on his uniform and it's awkward and mildly uncomfortable. "Forming bad habits, I see."

"Had to run a few errands," Wally admits. He smiles under the mask, holding his chest high, then backs away slightly when the touch becomes too overbearing. "Take some tests…you know. College stuff."

"College stuff," John repeats, lips curling into an amused smirk. "Our Wally. _College stuff._"

Wally wonders if Captain Marvel ever has to deal with being treated like a little kid. "No biggie. Might have failed one of my exams."

John frowns. "Kid, we would have taken you off of monitor duty if you—"

"I've had stuff on my mind." Wally doesn't look any of them in the eye. Pretends to smile because quite frankly, he hates being referred to as 'Kid.' He hates it when people call him 'Kid,' and makes him feel like a little boy playing pretend. Uncle Hal and Uncle John see right through him like they always do, but they mention nothing.

Clark nods his head stiffly and Wally knows he'll be asked later, 'How's Conner doing?'. "Son—" He isn't particularly partial to 'son,' either. "—take some time off. You've rounded villains back and forth and have put them in jail. You deserve it to focus on your studies."

"No—I—" He thinks briefly how Roy told him to speak his mind. How Wally should be himself, smile more, and not be a Jerkface. Then how something so simple can feel absolutely complicated. "I'll take tonight's shift. Don't worry."

It's going just like how Wally expects it, with all of the members doting on him like he's that thirteen-year-old boy with gawky body parts, large freckles, and even bigger eyes. Finally, they all round up—even Batman, who still says absolutely nothing—and exit out the door at Wally's billionth request.

"You want a massage?" Diana asks silkily with her empress smile.

"I'll pass," Wally says. He can't particularly stand the sight of black hair and blue eyes right now.

As she nods with a chivalrous hum, Wally looks back to the monitors, note how incredibly boring it is, and whips out his psychology text book to study. He thinks back to how Bruce reacted when he finally arrives, and knows Bruce knows.

And that Bruce expects—_hopes_ Wally will talk sense into Dick. Thinks Wally hasn't already tried.

Wally grabs his phone half an hour later through his shift and texts Dick.

_I'm there if you need me. Always. - W_

He falls asleep two hours later and doesn't get a reply the next morning. Dick has always been particular about sending messages when he can. They used to spend long nights with Wally back in Central City and Dick in Gotham, sending the stupidest messages you can imagine. Dick used to make fun of Jesse McCartney's songs and get pissed when people began calling Justin Bieber the "Robin of Hollywood." Wally used to laugh and have to resist the urge of calling Dick's rants 'adorkable.'

Dick's phone number isn't something Wally has saved on his cell. He's known the number by heart for six years and types it into his phone on his way back to Keystone. There isn't a ring. Just a long, drawn out message.

_**We're sorry. The number you are trying to reach is no longer in service.**_

**-x-**

It's Conner who Wally likes to see in the morning after long nights of monitor duty at the Watchtower. J'onn always offers him Oreos right before he leaves, he always declines, and on the way home to Keystone City Wally likes to visit little Smallville to check up on his third best friend. It's simple the way Wally sees it: Dick comes first, Roy comes second, and Conner is third. He hasn't spoken to Kaldur in nearly a year—doesn't expect to, with the way things are apparently going in Atlantis. He tells Arthur to tell Kaldur 'hi' on some days, then on others doesn't bother. He never gets a 'hi' back.

At about six in the morning the sky's still filled with hues of orange and light purple, with starry skies that makes Wally think of Lian's laugh. They shine too brightly as he races through Smallville as the Flash. Blinding, almost, but the little town is already awake and bustling—and so's the Kent Farm.

Conner has one of the Kents' tractors lifted three feet off the ground in one hand when Wally reaches the Kent Farm. Mr. Kent is underneath with a toolbox and looks incredibly involved with his work. It's funny how Conner looks like he's not even breaking a sweat. In one hand holds the tractor, but at a crouch with a loving smile, three little chicks are nuzzling his shoulder and he's ruffling the feathers of a mother hen.

He looks up, not even bothering to let his easygoing smile fade from his face. It widens, even, into a grin. "Hey."

"Hey," Wally says back. The scent of apple pie wafts into his nose from the Kent house and he smiles plainly to Conner's upturned, happy-go-lucky smile. They're almost the same height now, he thinks to himself. Conner's still got two inches of height against Wally and double the muscle mass, and Wally savors every moment of it. Conner reminds him that he's still vulnerable—still a 'kid,' but not in the sense John and Hal see him. "How's school?"

Conner snorts, eyes rolling dramatically. He's different, now that Clark and he talk. It isn't constant and Superman always has business around the world, but Wally knows they've worked out their differences and have started bonding. Not only that, but Wally's pretty sure Con's got a crush on that blond girl on the Titans. And might be flirting with her. "Boring."

"Still gotta wear the glasses, I see." Wally grins and raises his hand to touch the wiry frame of Conner's dorky lenses. He's never had to wear glasses himself—and even for Conner, it's not specifically because he has eye problems. Wally's only seen Clark a handful of times out of League business. It was right after Uncle Barry's death a bit over a year ago when he was in mourning. Clark and Bruce had confronted him; Bruce particularly knowing what it was like to lose a paternal figure. They care for him at the league. Care for him so much that it's almost suffocating.

He shoves that thought away and remarks the similarities Conner shares with Clark. Eyes, for one thing. Conner has Clark's eyes, his square jaw, and the small quirk of an eyebrow Clark has if Wally ever says something kiddish during a league mission.

Wally thinks about it again as Conner gets into a conversation with Mr. Kent, and silently shakes his head. Conner doesn't remind him of Clark. Clark reminds him of Conner, every day when Flash is needed for league business. Every time Wally has to see Clark, he automatically thinks about Conner. Those glasses seem so unsuitable across Conner's face now. So, not Conner-like that it's odd to him.

Just like how these running boots don't quite fit Wally the way they would Uncle Barry.

It's another thought Wally knows he shouldn't have. Another intangible thing Wally can't think about because thinking about it brings him into the pit at the bottom of his heart where there's no sunshine, no stars, no lilacs, no Roy to keep him on his feet.

"Thanks, Uncle Jon." Conner's just about finished with the conversation Wally hasn't heard when he puts the tractor aside like it's a Leggo brick and floats into the air much like Megan. Conner can fly now. The buttons fly off the dorky flannel shirt Conner wears, and underneath reveals the S-Shield in all its glory while the pair of spectacles (because there isn't an undorky word _for_ them) go to his back pocket. Conner smiles the wholesome smile few people ever get to see anymore and starts a path toward what Wally assumes is the Barnyard. "Race you."

"You're on."

It's a short race. The barnyard isn't necessarily far away to begin with and the only thing that really trips Wally up are the dozens of chicken out of the coop, two cows Conner refers to as 'Chloe' and 'Tess,' and a gaggle of ducks which Conner stops along the way to bring a small duckling back to its mother.

Conner is absolutely, stupendously grateful for his life on the farm.

It shows in the way his eyes gleam with a glitter Wally used to have, and the way his smile curls as they stop in a room filled with haystacks, another tractor, and evidently a second floor in the barn that can be reached with a ladder. Sunlight creeps through the battered ceiling and gleams against old wooden chests and books like a safe haven, and it doesn't look fitting until Conner's sitting on the ragged couch, hands tangled good-naturedly with a baseball.

It's funny, really. Supey used to be this awkward big-little thing that liked to sleep in a closet, yet here he sits in the middle of nowhere looking absolutely in peace. He isn't a robot. He isn't a weapon, and most importantly, Superboy is a _he._ Conner is a pronoun, not an object.

Wally sits in what he can only describe as an old bean bag chair of a greenish-yellow color as Conner chuckles softly, obviously at peace with himself.

He smiles at the other meta. "What?"

It's fake, Wally realizes, as a wry gleam enters Conner's eyes. They're a sardonic blue against penchant black hair and the taller teen leans forward. "I'm next on your list, aren't I?"

List. Wally flinches and his throat goes dry, but he says nothing.

"Don't get too many visitors 'round Smallville," Conner says quietly. His voice is low, smile weak, and he looks out the window as tendrils of purple leave the sky. "M'gann used to like stargazing with me. Clark brings Lois once in a while and we eat pie together."

Clark's brought pie to the Watchtower once. 'Aunt' Martha's apple pie makes Wally think of his Aunt Iris. Wally leans back and looks at the several different news clippings that depict Superman saving Metropolis or the world, and in later articles Superboy's saving cats and little girls and cars and bridges. Some are of the Teen Titans. There aren't any about Young Justice.

"Why did you and Megan never work out?" Wally asks absentmindedly. He sinks back against the bean bag chair and doesn't look Conner in the eye. "You got together briefly after…Artemis.

A warm, _Conner_ smile spreads across the other teen's face, and Wally closes his eyes. "Communication issues."

Irony. "She was in love with you for years, Con."

"She had a thing for blonds," Conner says wittily. He's getting good at that. _Has_ gotten good at that. "And I was young. We both were. Back then her crush seemed like pure affection, but I was too naïve to realize Clark not appreciating me made me turn to the nearest source of nurture. M'gann was there for me. Before Dinah came along, she was like my _mother._ Now as I watch her, she's become more like a little sister."

Wally's mind is still wrapped on the first thought. "You don't consider Megan your first love?"

"It's easy to mistake pure affection as true love," Conner insists. He tosses the baseball between his fingers. "Admiration can sprout from the smallest notion that when you go back, you realize it may have never been love in the first place."

Like with himself, Wally doesn't vocalize. He's too scared to. "If…you and Megan had another chance…"

"No," Conner finishes for him with a wry smile. "You're the runner, Wally. When you chase something for so long you forget there's a world outside of the track."

Wally doesn't know why but he suddenly hears a faint murmur—a familiar and comforting voice in the shell of his ear that sounds too good to be true. He looks at Conner wondrously, hands at his side as Conner flips the ball, then back at his seat.

They're silent for what feels like forever. Talking to Conner is different from what it was like in the past. Different from Dick, most certainly, and doesn't always make Wally feel as comfortable as Roy does once they're finished. Roy has always made the point of conversation _Wally._ He doesn't talk about independence and defying Batman like Robin does, or Conner's latest problems trying to adjust to life.

Roy has to be the busiest person Wally knows, and has only time for three things: Lian, Red Arrow, and…him. The latter thought brings warmth to Wally's chest.

"About Robin," Conner says softly. It's the small voice now—the gentle, _Superboy_ voice that somehow makes all that confidence look absolutely fake.

"I don't know," Wally confesses quietly. His voice drops all support, sounding as crappy as he feels. He buries his face in his knees, reminded how he spend a half hour calling Dick's phone four-hundred and sixty-two times before giving up. His ears had gone numb in the process. "I. I really don't know."

"…when you see him," Con grumbles, "bring him back. So I can beat him up."

Wally smiles.

**-x-**

The new Wonder Girl doesn't like him very much. Wally easily admits that the feeling is mutual, and it isn't as much they have certain dislikes for each other than it is they don't understand each other.

Wally's been down that road before: see the pretty blond, see the way she moves her mouth—now see the way her stubborn ass dies and feel the guilt pulse through your veins for the rest of eternity. See the blood pool at her head, the dried salt that stains her delicate cheekbones. See her hair, tangled and clumped in red.

Feel her kiss; feel it all wrong, hear her say "I love you," and listen clearly when you're winded, lacking half your blood as a stupid sixteen-year-old boy and don't say it back.

There's a lot Wally blames himself for. So much he blames himself for that most days after he puts the uniform back in the ring he wishes he could crawl in there and let the lack of oxygen kill him. But that's an insult and he knows it. What's the point in purposefully dying when there are people like Artemis and Barry, who actually _gave up their life_ for something? It's a disgrace. A horrible, _horrible_ thought that makes Wally feel sick whenever it crosses his mind.

Wonder Girl is five years younger than him and isn't Donna. She'll never be Donna, she's definitely not Artemis, and she's nowhere like Dinah. She's supposed to be in school, otherwise Wally wouldn't have found her sitting on the couch with Beast Boy exchanging popcorn and dorky jokes. She's spunky, witty, and outside of veering eyes dawns a pixie cut and bright blue eyes. Last time Wally's seen her in action, she wore a black wig to be more like Wonder Girl the First.

Irony though, isn't it? Wally swallows as he approaches the 'T' tower. They don't like each other, but it's when Wonder Girl tries to _be_ Donna that Wally wants to pull her aside and tell her, "Don't try and copy the legacy. Honor it and be yourself."

Painful, _painful_ irony.

Beast Boy and Wonder Girl don't like him. Wonder Girl isn't Artemis, but there is so much about her that's _exactly the same_ that he doesn't waste a breath getting into fights with her.

Wally doesn't bat an eyelash trying to _get_ them to like him because he's only worked with the team twice. He can count on one hand how many times he's been to the Tower since becoming the Flash, and Wally knows they've only ever been cooperative when one of his old teammates is in the room. Vic intimidates him because they're the same height. Raven sees everything—_sees his essence_, and he doesn't like it.

He once yelled at Beast Boy right after he became the Flash, when Beast Boy went from Changeling and the Doom Patrol to the Teen Titans, and he yelled bitterly, "THIS ISN'T A PLACE FOR A _BRAT_ TO BE _PLAYING AROUND._"

It's because Beast Boy tripped up by accident. Because Wally saw so much of himself in Beast Boy that day that he couldn't _help_ but blow a fuse. To himself more than Beast Boy.

Ever since then, Wonder Girl glares at him and he keeps his guard from getting punched.

The security system registers that he's entered the Tower.

**Recognized, B03: Kid Flash.**

It's a sick joke; a fucking _sick joke_ that makes Wally hesitate from taking the next step past the threshold into the rec room. Air escapes his lungs as both Wonder Girl and Beast Boy smirk to themselves, pretending not to notice. Beneath him his legs wobble and clank together, oxygen disappearing and he counts to ten while Beast Boy flips the TV to Animal Planet.

"Very funny," he mutters, and his voice comes out so raspy he can barely hear it. "Where's Megan?"

Wally would be lying to himself if he said he wasn't avoiding going to Gotham to find out why Dick disabled his phone. He's sure it's because Dick doesn't want anyone—_not just him_-talking to him. Dick doesn't want Bruce on his trail; for Bruce to still hold so much power over his head.

But it's hard.

It's hard not to take it personally when your best friend never looks you in the eye the same way ever again, flinches at your touch, pretends that nothing's happened and _tries_ to keep everything the same for your sake—and then suddenly shuts the door and shatters your heart for the umpteenth time.

"Why?" Wonder Girl gets up from the chair, floats in air, and stares at him unerringly.

Wally _hates_ being at the Titans Tower. She gazes at him, scowl firm on her lips and meek little Beast Boy in the corner, and uses _that_ stare on him. The one that actually _reminds_ him that he's nothing but a kid. Just like them. Wonder Girl knows she's winning. "I just—I need to talk to her."

"Trying to give Dick an invitation to the Justice League? Need a leader?" Wonder Girl holds her head high. "Pass."

"You changed the computer just for that little prank, didn't you?"

Wonder Girl tries to hide her triumphant smirk. "I might have."

"I. Just. Want. _Megan._" He can't break on a kid, even when she gives him a hard time. Uncle Barry wouldn't have.

"What?" Wonder Girl snorts, thinking that she's _cracked_ him. "C'mon, Flash. Dick was already angry when you left—"

"Artemis! _Shut it—_" Shit. Double shit. Wally knows he's blown a gasket again. His heart skips a beat, breath close to ragged, and he takes a step back as Wonder Girl's smug look slackens. Later generations of superheroes don't know the story because the League's done a good job covering it up. He trembles where he's at—trembles so horribly that you can't even mistake it for vibrating, and Beast Boy looks at him with those wide, childish eyes. Wally wishes for once that he was Kid Flash so he could run a hand through his fiery red hair and—and be _himself._ He closes his eyes and breathes. "How's Vic doing as the leader?"

Vic. It doesn't sound like a name he should say. None of them, really. They're so _young_; so _vulnerable_ to danger, and Wally doesn't know how Leaguers can look at these kids and—and see the fucking world in them.

Not when he was so stupid at their age.

"He's doing fine." Wonder Girl relaxes a little from the comment. Wally realizes he doesn't even know her name. She's wary, staring at him cautiously now and probably incredibly close to calling the league on him to make sure he isn't Thawne. In fact, Wonder Girl's eyebrows furrow slightly. "How's Dick?"

Wally's lip twitches. He remembers when he was the only one Dick confided his secret identity to. How many jokes came from that name; when he was fourteen and Dick was eleven? "Checked up on him. But as far as today…he cut his phone line. His cellphone doesn't work anymore."

He doesn't expect Wonder Girl to stare at him like he's crazy. "Of course his cellphone doesn't work anymore."

_What?_ "You knew?"

"He called in just a couple hours ago saying he didn't want anyone to follow his trail." Wonder Girl crosses her arms. "He cut it this morning, I think. He—Flash, why do you look so pale?"

Dick got his text. Dick got his text late last night and didn't reply. Dick _got his text_ last night, and didn't cut the line until this morning.

Dick deliberately ignored Wally's text, ignored Wally's please to come back as Robin, ignored coming back to the team—ignored Wally. _Ignored his best friend._ Deliberately.

Beast Boy turns into a squirrel and pokes his shin. "I think he's dead!"

"No," Wally says, voice at a violent shiver.

He runs out of the room, out of the Tower, and heads straight to Gotham. His chest hurts.

**-x-**

It should be about Dick's lunchtime at school when Wally enters Gotham Academy. He's been blamed for being impulsive before, and knows if he's going to confront Dick, then he's going to have to do it rationally.

Wally isn't stupid. Not anymore, after the Incident, Artemis's death, Uncle Barry's death—yelling at Beast Boy—the list goes on. He _feels_ stupid, like everything he learns is just text-book knowledge that he doesn't actually understand, but there are certain things about Dick that Wally watches for now.

He used to say whatever came out of his mouth—smile when Dick smiled, and after accepting his emotions—the way he _feels_ about his best friend, it'd been worse. Dick used to make him shy—hesitate that one second no one else noticed, thinking about at least a thousand possible responses to Dick's conversation, then say something.

Dick still scares Wally. He scares Wally to that horrible degree, turning a nineteen-year-old man into the little thirteen-year-old boy who's just running after the trail his uncle's left, and can _never_ catch up.

So Wally watches himself. And when he reaches Gotham Academy, cheeks flushing from the hard run and lungs convulsing as they catch air, he changes into the civvies clothes Roy had given him (he realizes at that moment even though he dropped by Kansas, he forgot to run into his apartment back in Keystone), tugging at the hoodie that's a size too big for him (but fits so perfectly on Roy that you can still see his muscles—Wally nearly trips at that thought, wondering why Roy's muscles would race through his mind, and shoves it aside for later) and pulling at his pants.

Wally hasn't stood in front of Gotham Academy since he was seventeen-years-old and anticipating having lunch with his best friend in civvies. He feels out of place, watching in the clothes that smell like Roy and getting stares back at oblongs in uniforms. He wants _his_ oblong and _his_ Gotham prep boy and _his_ friend. His best friend.

It's been two years since his last visit, but Wally's never been counted as an intruder on campus. He sticks out like severely sore thumb, but ever since he taught the Elements song to Dick's physical science class when Dick was twelve and Wally was fourteen, all of the teachers like him and even offered a full scholarship to study at Gotham.

Bruce refused. Wally didn't want to be far away from his family but—Dick was…_crushed._ Disappointed and sad that his best friend wouldn't hang out often. Back then was when Wally first felt his heart skip a beat and he promised wholeheartedly to learn how to run incredibly fast so they could meet up every day.

Wally finds Dick in a secluded spot with his civilian friends in the back corner, smiling.

He gets looks from freshmen and sophomores who've never seen him before, but ignores it. Gotham Academy feels _small_ compared to Keystone University, and he feels too old to be here. But that's how it is now, he asks himself wryly. Isn't it?

A bitter smile twists against Wally's lips as he makes each step slower to get to his best friend.

Wally feels so young—so _young_ and like a little kid dressed in superhero pajamas to prolong bedtime whenever he's in the Justice League. He feels suffocated by the legacy—by what Jay and Uncle Barry have left behind for him, and that he can just _never run fast enough_; never at their pace.

He feels younger when he's with the Teen Titans because they're so close to his age—so fresh on his mind with his stupid mistakes, and makes him feel like he's sprinting in a marathon and will _never_ reach the finish line with the League. With Barry and Jay. With Roy. With _Dick._

And then he feels old. Wally feels like a soul watching his lifeless body move and bend to the whim of his best friend and never-lover, and feels worthless because he's been chasing after a boy who is straight, rejects him, and can't even _look_ at him anymore despite having the second-most highly-trained poker face; his mentor being the first.

There are only a few people who make Wally feel like himself anymore. He balls the hoodie in his hand where his heart resides, and finally meets face-to-face with Dick. Lilacless blue to worthless green.

And then Dick gets up, smiles, and kisses him.

Wally lets out a strangled cry, yet again caught off guard by a best friend who makes the most irrational decisions in the most rational way, and somehow manages to avoid Dick's pervading tongue against his palate. It feels weird—different, and Wally notices short, little Dick is standing on the tips of his toes on _Wally's_ toes, hands fisting Roy's hoodie and pulling Wally closer than ever before.

And Wally knows this type of kiss. Well.

Robin's used it on Kid Flash _four times_ back at Young Justice, and just for recon, undercover missions that require sliding into civvies. Robin's eyes have always been covered by ridiculous contacts—both times with Rob in a skirt and hairless legs, going by the inconspicuous name, _Allie Draper._ Wally's always been on the receiving end of these kisses, and they've been used to throw the perp off guard, freak them out, and for Rob to pull out a skillfully hidden batarang to chunk at their heads.

Rob's used it on Wally four times. Conner, Kaldur, _Roy_-all once.

It works well because although it's been about three years since Kid Flash and Robin have gone on a ridiculous cross-dressing mission with one another, Wally's arm slides around Dick's sorry excuse for a feminine waist, and he waits for his ex-fearless leader's command of what to do next.

There's a disgusted cry from the table Dick was sitting at, and then a guttural moan. "_Alright_, Richard. We believe you. Now…go back into the closet or something because that shit is just…_god..._"

'Richard' pulls away. And there's a self-gratifying smirk when Dick turns his head, nuzzling uncomfortably against Wally's chest. "Don't doubt me next time, Jace. Timmy—make sure he doesn't puke up a lung or something."

That Timmy kid answers with an arched eyebrow. "And you?"

"I'm going to figure out how my boyfriend read my _to-tal-ly_ whelmed mind."

With that, Wally finds himself dragged down the long halls of Gotham Academy's Prepatory School, dodging three bathrooms until they're in the east wing and Dick moves to open a door Wally's never seen before. Dick's hand hasn't left Wally's arm.

Once the door opens, Wally's brought into the small janitor's closet as Dick locks the door behind him. They're in a cramped space when Dick yanks the small cord and the light bulb comes on. Wally turns his head—_stares_ and doesn't remember what he was going to say.

Dick takes his silence in stride and makes his own assumptions. "This closet's soundproofed. Bruce paid extra money to the school so this could be my 'personal locker space' so I could zip in and out as Robin without looking suspicious. Now," Dick glares at him, "what the hell are you doing here?"

Wally remembers where his head's screwed in. And he's not happy. He stares at Dick, regaining his voice and tenses under the tight space. There's not a lot of room in this 'personal locker': just enough for a broom, a bucket, and Wally and Dick. Wally can still smell the subsandwich his best friend had. "What the hell was that?"

"'That'?" Dick repeats. He stares calculatively, blinks, then rolls his eyes, like the question's insignificant. Like…Wally's insignificant. "Timmy and Jace came by the Manor yesterday wondering where I was. And I told them I moved out to be with my boyfriend—something Brucie didn't approve of."

And evidently, Wally was the boyfriend. He stared at Dick, lost his voice, and swallowed. "Why me?"

Dick stares at him. Hard. It isn't that smirk Robin ever has, or even the self-righteousness Dick's ego used to put him at from the age of thirteen. Instead, Dick shakes his head, runs a hand through his hair, and walks in their little space over the bucket. "Because you were there."

Now Wally's back to being insignificant.

"The important way to lie is to always put a little bit of the truth in it," Dick says, like he's giving a lecture on, 'How to be a Douchebag to Your Best Friend.' Because that's how Wally feels right now. Blue eyes look at him, dulled by years of fading youth and dim with…without anyone. Without Bruce, without Alfred, without…_any_ social contact. "And you've always been able to make it convincing. Don't take it personally, Flash."

Don't take it personally? Don't…_let the situation hurt his feelings_?

"You can't keep doing that," Wally whispers, keeping his voice as steady as possible. He fails.

Dick stares at him in confusion. "Doing what?"

And Wally just can't take it anymore. "YOU! You can't just _mess_ with my feelings, Rob—Dick—I'm…I'm _in fucking love with you_!"

He hates knowing it. He hates understanding why this little twerp has so much fucking _power_ over him, and can twist feelings around—make it personal, and then make it sound so _common_ and petty like those feelings don't matter. He hates every day missing the way Dick used to smile, and the way they would hold hands as two innocent little boys those long years ago, and hates that his chest can hurt _so fucking much_ yet still feel eager whenever Dick's near.

He hates how much he tells himself he hates Dick because at the very end of the day—the part where Wally closes his eyes and dreams, he still loves Dick.

Roy told him last night to be himself. To be whom he wants to be.

Wally wants Uncle Barry back. He wants to be able to stare at Artemis's tombstone and actually tell her, 'I love you too,' to stop feeling little kid but _stop_ feeling so horrifically grown up, and for Young Justice to come back and for…for his best friend to respect him. Because Dick sees him nothing more than that seventeen-year-old idiot who is head-over-heels in love and can't do _anything_ about it.

"I'm in love with you," Wally croaks. He feels like the senior Dick is—at the borderline of growing up, but scared that the world would crash around him, and Dick only looks back, blue eyes glazing with the patience they held when Barry died and Wally was trying to take on the mantle as the Flash. Wally remembers the same feeling of butterflies in his stomach, wingspan uncomfortable and unbearable, and staring at the too-short kid with the too-creepy laugh that he was so in love with back then. That he misses. "God," Wally laughs bitterly—_angrily_, and he can't remember the last time he was true to his hotheaded nature—"_Why_ am I in love with you? How?"

Dick says nothing, so Wally continues.

"You had me scared half to death, you know that?" Wally wants to punch Dick in the face. To _really_ punch him in the face, and not feel the guilt burn afterward. But he laughs. He laughs, like he used to when he was an idiot kid, pacing back and forth in their small, confined area, and runs a hand through his mussy hair. His hand almost misses because of Roy's long sleeve. "I texted you last night. And you didn't text back—even after the fucking Incident, you and I have _always_ texted. You've tried for two damn years to keep this friendship going; to make sure we don't lose what we've had. And it's only made me love you more."

Wally halts at the wall; knows he's at deadend and is pressed up against a solid surface he could vibrate out of—but doesn't. He glares at Dick, blood burning in his veins, and ducks his head. "And I wasn't angry at you, Dick. You know you have that power over me? I can _never_ get angry at you. You were cutting off lines with Bruce—that's what I thought. And then do you know what I find out?"

Blue eyes stare at him, calculative as ever, and it's been ages since Wally was able to read his best friend. Thoroughly, anyway. He's hardened too much—a tinman who's given up the search for his heart.

"You told your team mates. You told two little brats before you told me—you told your team over your best friend." Wally shuts his eyes. He still wants to punch Dick.

He wants to punch Dick, hold Dick, _kiss_ Dick, _hate_ Dick and bury his face _in Dick._ But he does something better. Something that penetrates even Dick Grayson, Boy Wonder.

"You're just like him," Wally says lowly, barely audible. But audible enough. "You _are_ Batman, Dick."

Dick finally falters—showing emotion for the first time in years—but Wally doesn't care. He runs away. _Again._


	3. Almost Like Lovers

**Chapter 3: **Almost Like Lovers

The Watchtower itself isn't as bad as Wally depicts it. Through that fear of expectations and the pressures of filling out his uncle's boots, past regret and under the pain that makes him want to die in the hole, Wally finds himself at the Watchtower often. He's different, people realize, after two minutes in a conversation about quantum mechanics and physiques.

The founding members have a lot of respect for him—have never expected him to simply fill out Barry Allen's shoes and move onto the next thing. They're his cradle—like doting Moms and Dads who keep their ear to the baby monitor when he's in another room.

It hurts, Wally decided a long time go. It hurts when you've got seven of the World's Finest Heroes who never doubt your skill and always put faith in you when most days you can't even trust yourself.

Most of the time Wally wishes he was stupid. He wishes he wasn't stupid the way Dick _always_ manages to render him; but severely stupid. He wishes he wasn't a scientist who's read over psychoanalysis billions of times to figure out what's wrong with him to get over whatever slump he's in, and that he didn't know everyone meant well.

He wishes Clark, Bruce, Diana, Unc—_Hal and John_ couldn't smell the stench of fear he carries with him, and try to guide him to the end of the tunnel. If people didn't understand him—if his situation wasn't so damn _obvious_ like a Dr. Seuss book, Wally wonders if it would be easier.

Because then it would make him a stubborn fool that could be easily forgotten, and he could just become some insignificant leaguer no one cares for. Not…not the nephew of the Fastest Man Once Lived. Not the little boy who used to refer to everyone as, "Uncle Green Lanterns" and "Aunt Hawkwoman."

It's not the novices, Wally muses as he looks at the stars from a window in the hallway, that hate him. Wonder Girl and Beast Boy partially don't count because they've had a grudge and have attempted to destroy his dignity for months now. Then again, there is no such thing as a 'novice' in the League.

Working as a member of the JLA wasn't about the fame. Superman purposely shied away from as much of the media as possible, accepting interviews only when necessary. The League is about _helping_ people; small and large heroes alike.

So it's the middle members that don't take lightly to that eighteen-year-old boy who steps through the zeta-beam tube in yellow-clad boot and the lightning bolt emblem and see him as a mockery of who the Flash became. Hal told him during the first week of monitor duty that it's because they don't understand.

They either pity Wally or hate him. But always, they're belittling him. They don't know, Hal continued that day, that _the Flash_ has always been a title that was inherited. Jay Garrick, Barry Allen, _Wally West._ They don't know that _the_ Flash was _the second_ Flash, and those who do belittle Jay because of their age. They're stupid that way.

"Do you think Uncle Barry respects my decision, Uncle Hal?" Wally remembers asking that day; soft, and tired from telling Dick he had no choice but to quit the Titans. "Do you think he trusts me to take on the mantle?"

"You earned his trust the day you proved your worth as a sidekick, Wally." Hal looked at him behind that mask, amusement easily read. "And then you earned his respect the day you decided you weren't a sidekick anymore."

Back in the day, four-and-a-half years ago when they first found Project: Superboy on the most eventful Fourth of July Wally had ever had.

Wally's in the middle of biochemistry when the heavy steps of one leaguer in particular catches his attention. He doesn't have class today, and normally uses it as a catch-up day from all of his unpleasant skipping to catch crooks, then to check the bulletin board at the Watchtower to see what mission is up for grabs.

There's a second reason though, as to why he comes to the Watchtower. It's a place with endless labyrinths and hundreds of corridors Wally's explored long ago when he was an excited fifteen-year-old boy that just happened to be here for his uncle. He hates coming here as the Flash.

People see the cowl and the emblem on his chest, and that's it. As Wally, he comes in with this hair as red and flashy as his uniform and freckles that get lost over his face. No one sees that emblem—that run of scarlet, and they don't feel the electricity that stings whenever Flash walks. They see a kid, instead.

Batman catches Wally's eye as he puts the book down to greet Gotham's knight. The cape tapers over Batman's shoulders, tattered and torn to shreds, and there's a deep gash at the arch of Bruce's back. Wally drops his book out of instinct, zipping to the much older hero's side with wide eyes.

He's known Batman for seven years. For a non-meta, the guy was near invincible.

"What happened?" he asks, fingers carefully tracing the wound. Blood smears the small indents on his fingers, and quickly Wally becomes a line of support for Bruce to lean on, and helps him toward the medical wing. Bruce jerks away. Wally frowns. "Bruce—"

"Alfred is getting Dick settled," Bruce grunts simply. They make it into a nearby room and he tosses the first-aid kit Wally's way when the door swishes tightly closed.

Wally doesn't have a lot of experience in the medical department. That's a job best left with another leaguer, but he finds the gauze pads and begins applying them to the wound and assists Batman with taking off his tunic. He doesn't understand it. "You're never this reckless."

Bruce doesn't admit to weakness. If he has one, he always finds a solution before someone can blink. However, Wally already knows that it's around one in the morning back at Gotham, and… "I always had someone to watch my back."

Robin's always there to offer Batman an extra grappling gun.

When it comes to Bruce, his responses are limited to grunts and cryptic messages. Wally's endured enough over the years that he knows Bruce wouldn't simply offer an explanation without a hidden message. He's expecting it.

"Don't get mixed up in our personal affairs, Wally."

Then again… Wally looks at Bruce in surprise, tracing wet blood with his hands before wrapping it tightly. Plenty scars litter Batman's back, but Wally doesn't make much of it. Dick's had way more.

Batman looks at him again, opaque lenses piercing green eyes.

Wally's throat goes dry. He drops his head and continues his work. "I…"

"You love him," Batman says, and Wally winces. It's always been easier, he thinks, when he says it to himself. Even when his heart is swollen with bittersweet memories, it hurts less. "I hoped you would have been able to get through to him, but considering what had happened at the academy—" Wally winces again. Batman _knows_. "—and seeing how far Dick is willing to go, you'll only get hurt."

"I…appreciate your concern, but…" Wally doesn't know how to finish the sentence. He finishes the wrap around Bruce's torso, avoids the contemplative gaze given from a darkened cowl, and feels his fingers go limp. He also realizes not once has Bruce referred to Dick as 'Robin.' "He's…my…"

There's a lump in Wally's throat when he tries to swallow. It doesn't go away; just stays there in a teasing manner and reminding Wally that he's at a pathetic loss of words. Dick is his best friend. No matter what, even after what he's said, Wally still sees Dick as his best friend, and…they've never gotten in fights like this before. It's always been an unwritten code that they won't fight when it comes to Wally's feelings. Just ignore it.

Try to pretend that the Incident never happened, and try to be best friends again even though everything's changed. Especially Dick. But it's the little things, from when they were young and stupid that always chokes Wally up.

Dick isn't his husband. But on the days Wally used to visit Dick, when Dick was sixteen and Wally had just left the Titans, he felt like an old married couple that used to have a spark and gave up a long time ago.

Dick isn't his lover. But he was there in Wally's bed right after Barry's death, eyes as blue as the lightning outside and arms wrapped thoroughly around Wally's torso and face buried at the crook of his neck, murmuring, "It's alright. Shh, it's fine…" while Wally thrashed.

Dick isn't his boyfriend. But more than once, Wally used to grab his hand back when they were Young Justice, squeeze it tightly, and not let go for hours as Dick squeezed back.

Dick is his best friend. The way he smiles makes Wally's heart skip a beat, and he feels the world slow down.

Used to smile.

"It's best if you give up on him," Bruce advises.

Wally doesn't hesitate. "I know." 

**-x-**

Wally takes a chance and decides to drop by Roy's apartment after bandaging Bruce up and calming down a bit. He reasons to himself that there's no one he can talk to about his problems. Dick used to be his top confidant; someone Wally told all his secrets to, but after the Incident, they rarely talk.

It's not that they can't talk to one another. Before Dick quit the being Robin, Wally and he commuted and told one another about the opposite ends of the superheroing community, things at school, and little meaningless things in attempt to make the hour go faster. They pretend to laugh; to be absorbed in one another's conversations, and _try_ to remember that they're best friends even if they don't act like it at times.

So they talk to one another. They just never listen.

It's the rare moments, like when Dick let Wally hold him the night after Barry's funeral; let Wally remember that he's still tangible and alive and still cares in his own special little way, that doesn't always make Wally feel like his love is pointless. There are little moments.

Besides, if Roy doesn't feel like talking to him, Wally still needs to give Roy his clothes back anyway—which…he's…totally…wearing.

God. He didn't think this one through.

Maybe he can go back home real fast and change into a new pair of clothes.

Then again, he doubts Roy would want his clothes back dirty.

Oh, damn. Wally can't remember the last time meeting up with Roy has actually gotten him nervous. He runs a hand nervously through his hair, accidentally-repeatedly jabbing the doorbell and looking at any direction but the door.

He's apparently rung the doorbell an insufferable amount of times because the door suddenly swings open, nearly sweeping Wally off his feet as he grabs the doorframe, and Roy irately looks around for the source of his annoyances. Then those blue eyes fall, greeting Wally with a deep frown.

"Uh…" Wally says. He doesn't remember why he's here, all of a sudden. "Hi."

"…_hi_," Roy says carefully. He plucks Wally from the ground without much effort, leaves the door open, and allows Wally to come in without another greeting.

"I'm sorry—I'm—" Wally stares shamelessly at the other redhead as he shuts the door behind him. Roy's shirtless.

His mouth goes dry as he watches Roy navigate through the kitchen, pull out some baby formula, and proceed with making milk. A second later Wally recognizes the huff of sweat that had clasped over his hand when Roy picked him from the ground, and then the slick moisture that runs down the contour of Roy's pecks, glistening as beads of sweat slide down his abs—

Roy smells of sex. And Wally's blushing so hard that his hair's glowing with embarrassment as he sees the signs clear as day that Red Arrow's just gotten laid: the way his hair's tousled; half matted to Roy's forehead and sticking in odd ends Wally didn't know existed, or the way red runs across Roy's tan neck, and his PJ pants dip low enough for Wally to see scruffs of red pubic—

"Um," Wally says stupidly. He doesn't know what to follow up with. The shower's running, he notes, but doubts Roy has even bothered to take one. Definitely doubt.

"Didn't you hear me say, 'Hold on a minute?'" Roy muses. He isn't particularly paying attention to Wally. He's more interested in mixing the formula for Lian, which is okay because Wally suddenly realizes he's staring more than a good friend should.

Wally feels he's going to die of embarrassment if Roy realizes it. He looks away. "I was lost in my own thoughts." Like _now._

In total, Wally's had sex once. They were dating for three months, and she thought him enough of a gentleman to go all the way. It wasn't bad, but Wally broke it off anyway. It was probably a bad sign if the morning after, he wasn't thinking, "I'm waking up to the most beautiful girl in the world," but, "Oh, god, I skipped monitor duty last night, shitshitshit."

"Just got home," Roy says. He tilts his head in this…_precarious_ way, leaning at just the right degree as he pushes a hand through his sex-lathered hair and shakes the baby formula. Wally pretends he's looking at an old picture from when Roy was fifteen. "Planned on showering, then feeding Lian."

"You…could have fed Lian before your shower?" Wally suggests. It actually sounded better in his head. "Um, to…save money on water?"

"Covered in utilities," Roy smirks. He crosses his arms, eyes glittering in a way that makes it easier for Wally to breathe, then raises an eyebrow. "I'd rather my six-month old daughter not get attached to me holding her when I smell like cum, Wally."

Wally nearly trips over nothing.

"Do me a favor?"

"Anything." Well, maybe not _anything,_ but…Wally forces himself to look Roy in the eye.

"Feed Lian for me. She likes you." Roy holds the tiny bottle out again, eyes narrowed to Wally's before gesturing to the shower. "She gets cranky when she isn't fed on time. Think you can handle it?"

"I think I can handle a small child," Wally insists. He can handle one much better than the _father_ at least. He looks Roy in the eye—watches him smirk in that way he always does and—and…something. Wally doesn't know what, but the way Roy looks at him makes him forget everything around him. In a good way.

Wally takes the bottle without looking Roy in the eye and escapes into the nursery without looking back. Lian's squirming and pouting; wiggling in her little lacey bassinet. When she sees the bottle in Wally's hand, she immediately reaches out and demands to be fed.

This baby isn't anything like her father—cooing, happily sighing, wiggling—that Wally faintly wonders what Roy's like when it's just him and the baby.

He bites the inside of his lip, pulling little Lian in his arms, and juggles both her and the bottle. Lian sighs blissfully as the nipple reaches her mouth and her tiny hands fist around the container. She wriggles slightly, head nuzzling in Wally's bicep, and…

Wally's never truly, really held a baby before. Lian starts to relax again, eyes beginning to close as Wally vibrates at a low frequency that normally relaxes babies. He's saved little ones from burning fires and banks, but it's different holding a baby and knowing they won't spontaneously combust two seconds later.

Lian's fallen asleep halfway through her feeding, evidently relaxed with her surroundings. Wally paces through the room, ignores the little stuffed animals and toys Lian has (baby rattles and baby keys), and keeps his eyes locked on her.

He's back to thinking that it would be like if he had a child. A boy, a girl? Would they…be like Lian? She's small and fragile like a porcelain doll in Wally's arms, and he almost doesn't want to let her go.

It's peaceful here. Roy's apartment…it's peaceful. More so than the Watchtower, and Wally doesn't feel like he has to run away. _Ever._

Roy comes in about ten minutes later, thankfully dressed in a shirt and a pair of PJ bottoms. A towel is slung over his shoulder, and he stares at Wally in amusement. The sun's already set in Star City, and it must be getting late.

They stand like that for hours, with Wally pacing through the room with Lian in his arms, and Roy at the door just staring at him.

Wally doesn't feel self-conscious. He's comfortable the way he is; like it's Young Justice all over again and Wally feels like he's talking to Roy's silences.

"Dick?" Roy softly asks when Wally puts Lian down for the night.

Wally nods. The edge of his arm touches Roy's elbow, and Wally yet again feels comforted. "Can I stay the night?"

Roy nods back. But the truth is, Wally doesn't want to spend the night ranting about Robin. He wants to sit across Roy on the couch and be reassured Roy's not going to leave him.

It's actually quiet the entire time he's at Roy's apartment. Roy doesn't provoke Wally into telling him, and Wally actually doesn't feel the urge to. Being in Roy's presence automatically relaxes him to the point Wally feels like his outburst at Dick was just a pathetic excuse just to see Roy. He admits it to himself, but he doesn't point it out aloud. After all, even if he does, who would he say it to? At that thought his stomach does a flop; bashful like when they first encountered each other and Roy was _shirtless_ of all things.

That thought Wally knows isn't going to be an easy one to get rid of. He's pretty sure the entire time Roy and he eat dinner his cheeks are as red as his hair and puts even his uniform to shame. Again he doesn't mention it, and if Roy notices, _he_ thankfully doesn't mention it.

It's when they're sitting on the couch; comfortable as always that Roy confronts him. Of all things that could be on TV they're watching some old Power Ranger series where the stunt doubles are easily spotted and the location of explosions are predictable. Even when Wally was a little kid he's never actually liked the show. Back then he thought that if there was a way for Hollywood to make a TV series out of the Flash, then he would be first in line to get a ticket.

Why are they watching it? Wally doesn't even know.

But Roy puts the TV on mute. Their toes touch, balled against the wooden floor because they're too long for it. No one makes a move as Wally's stomach does a flop and eyes don't leave the screen. They watch now, sounds of fake battle cries as gone as Wally's state of mind.

"He disconnected his cell phone," Wally says hoarsely. There isn't a need to clarify who 'he' is. There's only one other 'he' that's ever spoken in this household.

Roy only sits back, small but fervent smile curling across his lips. "Took you long enough to crack."

"Taking forever to make a move seems to be my specialty," Wally jokes lightly. His eyes hurt from staring at the LED screen, so he turns his head to the side ever-so slightly to watch Roy from the corner of his vision. Emerald green eyes are staring back, _fully_ and taking in his very essence. The back of Wally's neck prickles with tingling hairs. His cheeks _burn_, a slight whistling in his ears causing him to enter a daze, and…his throat goes dry.

A smirk is his only reply. "The Fastest Man Alive being late for things. Irony."

"How terribly anticlimactic," Wally agrees, laughing softly. He…wow. He turns his head to the side, leaning forward so elbows touch knees, and look down to the ground. His heart beats behind its incarceration, squeezing, clenching, and still pulsing tightly in his ribcage. Roy makes him feel dizzy. "I snapped at him."

"Oh?" Roy asks; earnestly bubbling with interest.

"He stood there. Like a statue." Wally wants to say idiot, but an idiot has one thing a statue doesn't: a heart. He continues, hands clasping together so that all he sees is his freckles. "Didn't bother disputing this with me. I…_reminded_ him that I love him, and then told him off."

"Really now?" Mirth tickles Roy's tone, eyebrow raised and amusement curling into a poorly-hidden smirk.

"I told him he was just like Batman."

"Ouch."

"I…" Red eyebrows knit together and Wally collapses back into the couch, spine becoming one with the cushioning as he slouches and closes his eyes. "Yeah. Roy?"

"Yup?"

"Thanks." He opens one eye, peering at Roy with not a smile, but not a frown. Roy blinks and stares back, confused.

"For what?"

"For being there. Here. For not changing." Wally stops because he knows he's rambling now, then leans forward, fingers tangling with the couch's leather. "I…" He doesn't know what to say. There's just something about Roy that out of all people since Uncle Barry's death, he's _drawn_ to. Something, that makes him different from all the rest that lets Wally sleep with ease. Moreso than with Dick, too.

Roy genuinely smiles, wryness flickering in his eyes. Wally's ready for another, 'Uncle Jerkface' comment, but instead a calloused hand pushes bangs out of his face and kisses him gently on the forehead.

Like a little kid. And for some reason, Wally doesn't want Roy to see him like a _little kid._

"Going to bed now. The couch pulls out." Roy tosses the duvet into Wally's lap before standing up and making his easy way toward his bedroom door. "G'night, Kid."

"G'night." Warmth is loss. Wally waits until the door closes behind Roy, eyes gazing in that direction. He turns off the muted tv and falls asleep with ease on Roy's couch; not even bothering to fix his hair.

It's raining when he wakes up, and probably around four in the morning. Wally flinches instinctively as lightning and thunder strike in the nearby window, causing the entire apartment to quake and tremor, and sits up from his position, fully awake.

He looks around, reminded where he's staying for the night, and the faintest whimper catches his ears. Wally's heart palpates, and he looks to Roy's door, which remains closed and grim against the shadows of night's rain, then crawls out of his makeshift bed to make the quaint walk to the nursery.

Lian lays in her bassinet, whimpering and teary eyed as soon as Wally enters the room. He turns the light switch, expects for it to illuminate through the room, and grimaces when it doesn't. Yet somehow, she doesn't mistake him as a stranger as he reaches out to touch her small body.

Instead, she welcomes him, head burying into Wally's shoulder the moment he picks her up, and cries against his neck. Soft whimpers, loud yelps, heavy cries, and a lot of fidgeting when her fist nearly gives him a bloody nose.

Wally's dealt with crying kids before. But normally there's a lot of running involved and maybe a burning building or two.

He winces as Lian yelps, screeching louder as a particular crackle causes the room to shake again, and tries to come up with an explanation. She's scared from the thunder. Is her diaper wet? Does she need to be fed? Does she want her father—

_Hello_, Wally.

Nearly slapping himself, Wally bites his lip as Lian doesn't stay still in her arms. He walks through the room, keeps himself from tripping over the plenty piles of stuffed animals gifted to the little baby girl, and knocks on Roy's door. The rain's too loud for even Wally to hear it.

It's not locked, he realizes, after the third knock when it eerily creeps open.

Wally opens the door wider, having hard time alternating between rubbing Lian's back and pushing through the door. His eyes land on the lump clustered in Roy's bed and he twitches, stumbling over old books and a quiver of arrows before making it to the foot of the bed.

"Uh…Roy?" he asks softly. No response. Thunder booms, and Lian cries louder. Nervously, Wally twitches and puts his hand on the comforter-covered lump, violently shaking the shoulder and also trying to make sure Lian doesn't fall. "Roy…Roy…oh, _c'mon_, wake up!"

"Mmm?" There's a soft murmur, followed by a string of incoherent words, but slowly Roy wakes up like he's rising from the dead, dull green eyes barely peeking from slumber as they register Wally embarrassingly struggling with Lian's pounding. "Wally…?"

"She—uh—I—I don't know what to…what to do," Wally stammers. He pathetically holds Lian out like he's holding a pet dog or a cat, cheeks blundering a vibrant pink.

This time Roy's a little more awake, and he smiles wearily before pulling his daughter into his arms and rocks her gently in his arms. Instantly she lulls, tiny gasps turning into soft sighs and tears forgotten, despite the rain and the thunder crackling outside. "'ve gottit, Wally…g'back to sleep."

"I…uh…" Wally stands there awkwardly, eyebrows furrowing together as Roy blissfully sighs and continues gently mollifying Lian's worries. "Alright."

He leaves the room, closing the door behind him before crawling back in his little shell on the couch. His eyes flutter closed, ready to fall back asleep, but…he doesn't. Can't.

It feels different now. Totally different, and so…_insignificant._

Without even thinking about it, Wally crawls out of his little cave like he's that little kid again—five years old and crawling into Aunt Iris's bed when he woke up from a nightmare—and let his feet touch the warm path from Roy's room. He pushes the door open, not bothering to knock this time.

Roy's lit a candle on his nightstand, like it's standard procedure for when the electricity goes out during a storm. He's got the duvet in less of a mess now; pooled at his waist with Lian in the middle, arm wrapped protectively around her. She's fast asleep.

The bed dips in exaggeration, when Wally crawls onto it. His own duvet is left stupidly sprawled on Roy's floor, and the mattress squeaks until Wally's finally settled on the other side of Lian. Roy stares at him the entire time he does this, inquisitive and tiredly surprised.

Wally's throat goes dry and he shrugs, searching for a reason for his odd behavior and…can't find one. He confesses, "I don't know."

His cheeks burn bright pink as Roy soaks in the pathetic excuse for an explanation, and suddenly the bed's squeaking again as Roy readjusts all of their positions. Roy pulls the duvet over them—long and wrinkled to the point both his and Wally's feet are sticking out, and pulls on Wally's body until his arm is resting on the other redhead's waist. Wally feels the way his heart lightens, and that tingling feeling returns as Roy presses their foreheads together before closing his eyes; making a full barrier around the sleeping Lian.

"Roy—"

"You tell anyone I'm a cuddler," Roy says gruffly, "I'll snip your balls off."

Wally blinks. Once, to process this information. Twice, to figure out if Roy is kidding around, and then…he laughs. Soft and quiet so he doesn't wake Lian, but lightheartedly as Roy always manages to _render_ him, and feels…relieved. Like that little kid surrounded by his friends, warmth, and _Uncle Barry._

"I love you," he hears.

Then suddenly, he's stopped laughing. Wally sits up slightly from the grasp Roy has over him, surprised, and looks at Roy in surprise. Did he…he couldn't have possibly…? Those witty, wry green eyes are already closed, breathing having slowed and head pressed to the pillow.

Wally…shakes his head. He's exhausted and this is clear evidence enough that he must be hallucinating.

Burying his head tightly against Lian and against Roy, Wally closes his eyes and drifts to sleep. 

**-x-**

Gorgeous.

Completely, utterly, breathtakingly, sweetly, radiantly, happily, flawlessly, faultlessly, captivatingly, prettily, entrancingly, alluringly, divinely, agonizingly, outrageously, supremely, irrationally, enviously, intoxicatingly, sickly, superfluously, painstakingly, deeply, absolutely, charmingly, adorably, beautifully, wonderfully, rigorously, relentlessly, obviously, totally, absolutely, remarkably, broadly, smoothly, dangerously, mind-murderingly, comprehensively, uniquely, gracefully, numbingly, lustfully, royally, heart-clenchingly, peacefully, confidently, matchlessly, dreamily, tastefully, deeply, truly, blissfully, stunningly, strikingly, irresistibly, unbeatably, incomparably, painstakingly, blindingly, softly, lusciously, clearly, unmistakably, superbly, insanely, truly, favorably, simply, mercilessly, devastatingly, , daintily, preciously, wonderfully, joyously, damnably, attractively, lusciously, impeccably, perfectly, erotically, exotically, seductively, sensually, drop-dead gorgeous.

It's been two hours since he's woken up, and still Roy lays there, taking in the stunning sight of the _gorgeous_ copper hair that captures pink-fleshed skin, and the freckles that gather in clusters across that face.

Roy doesn't get much sleep. He hasn't, when it comes to his career, and his lack of sleep only piled up after Lian was born.

But he's okay with it.

He's okay with watching as a free curl twists at the nape of a freckled neck. He's okay, laying there and counting endless freckles, and he's okay watching his baby girl curled up gently to her side, blissful happy with her nose pressed against Wally's arm.

It's almost like waking up to a lover, Roy thinks. Waking up, finding yourself in rapture and tangled in the arms of someone you can freely kiss, and someone you can smile and faintly whisper, "I love you," and know that they love you back.

Roy's an archer. Archers are accurate; always looking for the bull's eye. A twenty-five pointer is nothing compared to the dead center, fifty points. Almost, for an archer in Roy's type of work, should never be good enough. Isn't.

But like this, in his bed watching the sun creep across freckles and allowing them to bloom, Roy doesn't care. He's irrationally set on stability and a firm life, and considered by all in the superhero community to be one of the most stubborn men alive, but he doesn't care.

So long as it's Wally who needs things—_wants_ things; wants to speak his _mind_ and needs a destination whenever he runs off track, Roy doesn't care.

There are two loves in Roy's life, but he knows only one of them he can really have. And still, he'll do whatever it takes; so long as the other one needs it.

He really wants to stay in bed with his arm wrapped blithely over Wally's waist and fall asleep; not waking until it's after noon. Right now it's only eight in the morning. His eyelids press together, and slowly they close as he buries his face back into his pillow, forehead brushing against the other's. Roy will take what he can get.

Ten minutes later, the bed dips as Wally wakes up and yawns. He wiggles out of Roy's arm, twitchy as he always is, and Roy hears him curse and mumble something about 'classes.' There's a whirlwind of lightning and wind in the room before the door shuts close.

At 8:11AM, Roy opens his eyes. His almost-lover has already left without a word.

**-x-**

**Author's Note: **

Hey guys! So those who haven't found this on the YJAM, I just wanted to make sure I've gotten this point across: This story was planned and made waaaay back in April before any of the new stuff came on, so there will be a lot of inaccuracies, but that's fine, right? Anyway, I'm glad that you've guys picked up this story so well, and I hope that you continue reading!


	4. Brotherhood

**Chapter 4: **Brotherhood

Two weeks pass.

Wally doesn't particularly know how to explain it, but…being around Roy just makes him _relaxed_, and when those two weeks pass, he's still wondering where the first day had gone. He's running out of excuses, fast, to come and visit Roy. It's easy at first to visit because the moment he leaves Roy's safe haven, his mind automatically goes back to that fight with Dick. How he's yelled at him—how his heart desperately wants to go to Dick, apologize, and tell them that he's nothing like Batman.

But right now he is. During those two weeks, Wally hasn't gotten a single phone call and he doesn't feel like swallowing his pride and admitting defeat to a best friend that's got him wrapped around that fucking annoying finger.

It only lasts the first two days—the way Dick has left everything behind—has left _Robin_ behind, and how it bothers Wally how easily Dick sheds his title. However, every moment he spends once he enters Roy's apartment—see how Roy's become so gentle when it comes to Lian, Dick just...doesn't matter.

There's something about Roy that Wally can't particularly shake and every time he tries to hypothesize and theorize, Wally ends up with nothing. It's the way Roy makes Wally feel like an idiot—thinking ahead, and still thinking too slowly, and although he feels stupid, it's more of _embarrassment_ than frustration. When Roy looks at him, there's a tingle his cheeks get, and it tickles across his jaw, across his nose, and makes his throat go dry. When Roy…when he _smiles,_ Wally feels safer than he has been in a year. Since Uncle Barry's death.

And it's that feeling Wally hasn't felt in ages: the feeling of being able to enter a home, and not be greeted by darkness.

So it's pathetic, he knows, but after the first two days with Dick, he looks for excuses to hang out with Roy. Like buying diapers for Lian, or buying new toys for Lian, or—or even babysitting, just to get a glimpse of Roy before Wally leaves for his patrol. He himself is being irresponsible, but…he doesn't care. Roy doesn't mind. And if he does, he hasn't showed contempt toward Wally in years.

"You seem happier."

Wally breaks out of his thoughts, fingers steadily playing with the pencil that rolls back and forth on his palm. Under the heaps of autumn leaves and the tree getting ready for the winter, the rest of his study group stares at him, broken out of studying for quantum physics only to observe him, and what Linda Park's just said.

He blinks, smiling slightly. "Do I?"

"You _have_ been happier," Linda points out again, and she kindly grins. "You look great with a smile, Wally."

"What were you thinking of?" asks Sammi, this ditsy blond who hasn't a clue what they're studying.

What's he thinking of? Suddenly Wally feels his cheeks burn—caught in the act of wondering, what the hell is he going to do about dinner tonight because he was getting tired of watching Roy stuff down restaurant food and volunteered to whip something up, but the last thing he cooked ended up catching on fire in some little girl's Easy Bake Oven. "Nothing."

"Whatever 'nothing' is," Linda smirks, "it must be _something._"

A lot of things are going through Wally's mind right now, actually. He stands abruptly, forcing another smile as he suddenly remembers something, then folds his books. "I've got to get going."

"You just got here," Alex, this burly fella from Wally's psychology class, points out.

"I read the book last night." In between monitor duty and helping Hal and John with some intergalactic-tentacle thingie, then studied for his college algebra exam on Monday during the zeta-beam ride home. It's _those_ nights, where Wally is still part of the Justice League. He doesn't like it, when the higher-ups try to work around his crazy test schedules, but sometimes, it's appreciated.

His comm.-link is blinking through his pants.

Wally's hand digs through his pocket instinctively, broad smile across his face as he waves his study group goodbye and breaks off into a 'sprint' until he's far from the study group and able to burn rubber, to run all the way back to his empty apartment that hasn't been cleaned in ages.

"Flash here," he says, tossing his books on the bed. "What's up?"

_"Come to Gotham,"_Bruce's voice echoes. Once 'Gotham' is mentioned, Wally feels his stomach drop with dread. _"One of yours. I've got a lead."_

One of 'his.' Which really means, one of Uncle Barry's, and the Rogues are about as much trouble as they have been since he was thirteen. Which…isn't by much. So it narrows down to the only two other possibilities that Wally can think of: Gorilla Grodd and Zoom.

His throat clenches, blood running cold through his veins, and ten seconds later he's the Flash, running halfway across the country until he's right next to Batman, down in the Batcave, and staring at the computer monitor over Bruce's shoulder.

Frequencies.

"What's this?" he asks, blinking in surprise. There are date logs there, with each precise second monitored, but at the same time there doesn't seem to be anything. No interference, no disruption—just clear silence, which leaves him confused.

"Entries of the past week," Bruce grunts. His cowl has been pulled from his face, blue eyes darkened with irritation. It's then that Wally realizes that there's another long, thick cut through the batsuit, and along the bloodstained Kevlar of Bruce's uniform, there's a large gash that's yet to be dressed.

"Bruce," Wally starts—

"No time for that," Bruce barks, and Wally has to listen because Bruce has always been his superior. Still, he takes a moment to zip out of the room, then come back with a first-aid kit. He can't find Alfred, but there's a note on the refrigerator that says he's gone shopping.

Wally begins to dress the wound himself, eyes wandering casually around the room as Bruce explains his observations. His breath goes cold, as he finds the Robin suit neatly placed behind a container. The R-Cycle has been dismantled, and primarily Dick's holocomp filled with information is now just on display like…like a useless souvenir.

Bruce doesn't wince when Wally applies the antibacterial spray. "There are frequency disturbances that have been happening the past week through Gotham. Not only that, but suddenly criminals that I've put away in Arkham are out right after I leave."

"Jailbreak," Wally simplifies for him. "But you can't track it."

"Fluctuations have been occurring for months now through all the cities and adding stress. Keystone City, Kansas has been one of the places that have been avoided." Bruce clicked on a file and a new image popped up on the screen. Zoom. "I've got reason to believe that the criminal _behind_ this is just too fast to see. Would that be right?"

Wally stops part way, antiseptic at hand and eyes analytic before reluctantly nodding. "It'd be a possibility, yes."

"Then I'll trust you to handle the situation." Batman nods, evidently done with the conversation.

On the other hand, Wally's slightly confused. "You…couldn't track him with the Batmobile?" It's the fastest car Wally's ever known, if that counts for anything. He suddenly realizes that the Batmobile is nowhere to be seen.

Bruce grunts, suddenly growing quiet before closing out of his current application. "The wheels got stolen last night. I need to replace them."

"Someone stole the wheels off the _Batmobile_?"

"An eleven-year-old boy."

"You got duped by an eleven-year-old _boy_?" Bruce must seriously be getting old.

"You haven't given me this much lip since you were a kid." It's an effective way of changing the subject when Batman doesn't want to talk about something. It's also, Wally realizes, an actual observation that Bruce has just made about him. That, he was different from the Wally yesterday. From…two _weeks_ ago.

Wally opens his mouth, throat having gone dry, but doesn't know what to say. Has he…gotten used to the skin, finally, of Flash? Did he finally accept Uncle Barry's death? No. But…there was something different; something that changed to make Wally feel like that boy Bruce is talking about.

He only stares back, surprised, before closing his mouth again and gesturing to the door. "I'll…track down Zoom."

It's only been two weeks. He hasn't changed that much, in two weeks, has he? Dick's only _stopped_ being Robin two weeks ago, and stopped being the leader of the Titans less than a month ago. And…Somehow, Wally doesn't think he really cares. Dick isn't the center of his world—not anymore; not since that fight. He shouldn't have to care.

He doesn't think he does.

The sun is setting in Gotham, and on his way home after a quick ice cream break, Wally notices that there's a gangfight happening outside in the alleyway. He rushes to the scene, handing off his third ice cream cone to some little boy, then halts dead in his track, watching from the outside as two men are fought down and brought to their knees from a few kicks.

Dick's in the center.

He's dressed up differently—in a sleek black uniform, and a haunting eerie blue that's the same shade from Robin's holocomp, which makes a simple-yet-eloquent design across his torso—and he almost looks broader, but Wally knows those moves anywhere. He recognizes Dick's fighting style, along with that haircut, and that…that irreplaceable smile that's evoked across Dick's face, like he's having the time of his life.

Wally hasn't seen that smile since they were kids. Since he was that 'mouthy' kid that gave Bruce lip all the time when he was deploying them on missions.

The last thug is thrown into a wall, brutally assaulted by Dick as he scowls, and a blue-and-black striped glove is pointing to the little kid that was in the center. "Repeat after me," Dick vehemently hisses, "you are _not_ going to go after little kids like him—_ever_ again."

"I—I won't, Robin!" The thug squirms with fear, eyes wider than humanly possible, and the husky scent of urine blocks out the rest of Wally's senses. His throat goes dry as Dick slams him further in the wall.

"Nightwing." Dick's expression darkens—so gruesome, so _Batman-like_-and then suddenly, he's smirking again. "What, did you wet yourself? I'm flattered."

"Robin." Wally can't help himself now. He zips up, pushes that thug out of Dick's grasp, and tries hard to look past those opaque lenses. It's the first time he's seen Dick in two weeks, and in that time he hadn't expected for Dick to…suddenly change. To look older—to look like that seventeen-year-old Wally remembers he himself used to be, and so livid and so confident, and so…happy.

Like, for the first time in years, Dick's finally come out of his shell. Like that he's no longer forced in Batman's shadow and following orders he doesn't need to be told. Like Dick can _fly_ and be free of his worries.

Everything that Wally has been trying to achieve since Barry's death, and Dick's gotten that in the course of two weeks.

Suddenly Dick has gone limp, and it's those two inches of height Wally has over his ex-best friend that makes Dick look so…frail again. Tiny, like that confidence has suddenly been exerted.

Just as he's never seen Dick so happy, he's never seen Dick so crushed, surprised, and so mystified to see him.

Wally's lost the will to talk. He corrects himself instead, reminding himself that Dick isn't Robin anymore—and that 'Robin,' is a suit that is behind a glass case all the way down in the Batcave.

"Nightwing," Wally says instead, and…he feels stupid again. Not the embarrassed stupid Roy makes Wally feel, but the _incompetent_ stupid that Dick always manages to render him. "You're not Robin. You're…you're Nightwing."

It's as if Dick suddenly realizes that he's displaying all his emotions for the first time in two years. His eyes harden behind that mask, even if Wally can't see them, and he crosses his arms. There isn't a need to make Wally feel incompetent, behind that gaze.

Yet still, Wally has to forcibly remind himself that he has things to do today. Batman has assigned him an investigatory task dealing with another speedster, he's got more exams to study for, promised to raked the leaves for his landlady, go…go visit Bart, go see _Roy…_

He steps back out of instinct, but can barely remember what he's doing.

Dick grabs him by the hand and looks as though he's never going to let go. He turns his head to the little boy who hasn't moved. "Jason—go _home._"

The little boy scowls, and he can't be any older than maybe eleven or twelve with the scrunchiest face Wally's ever seen. He doesn't even thank Dick, as he leaves.

But Dick is staring right back at Wally and hasn't moved. "Can we talk?"

Wally doesn't nod. He doesn't shake his head either, and realizes that the hesitation must clearly be written on his face. _No,_ he wants to say. _Yes,_ says the gaping hole on the surface of his heart. If not to get a reaction out of Dick—to see what his thoughts were after Wally's outburst (that at the moment feels existentially awkward and embarrassing) and get a look at those eyes, then to see his best friend, who's changed so much in two weeks.

Changes even Wally hasn't mastered yet.

He realizes Dick hasn't spoken, and for once that clinch on his arm is incredibly hard. A black-and-blue striped gauntlet is tight around his wrist, not offering a proper 'out' for him to leave.

Not the one he's always offered; where Dick offers him an escape because they know that would be a lot easier than standing parallel to one another and pretending that they're still those two boys who used to play videogames and complain about teachers.

"Please?" Dick's voice is so quiet Wally has trouble hearing it. It's soft, and raw, and so damn _hopeful…_

"Yeah," Wally chokes. "Let's talk."

A small smile twists across Dick's face—stern and bittersweet as he nods and brings one foot behind him. "There's a diner across the street. I'll meet you there in ten minutes."

"Ten minutes." That's more than plenty of enough time for Wally to run away and pretend he didn't meet up with his best friend. That's the thing though—running away. There's always been more to having super speed than _running away_, and doing that…makes him a coward. Gives more reason to call him one.

It's when Wally's changing at near-lightspeed behind the diner that he notices most of his clothes are too big for him. He's visited Roy more times than he can count, and a clear routine has developed: meet Roy, fumble through excuse, return clothes, end up staying the entire night before league duty, get messy from feeding, bathing, or playing with Lian, borrow new set of Roy's clothes—then go off until the next day.

Wally's fingers have trouble peeping through the sleeves of Roy's hoodie. He fidgets, tugging them to his elbows, and takes his time as he comes out of the alleyway and slowly enters the diner. He grabs a booth in the corner and settles restlessly on a cushioned seat, barely registering when the waitress hands him a menu.

It's funny, how you can feel incredibly starving and still not want something to eat.

"Is this seat taken?" Wally doesn't look up. Dick plops right down across from him, some sort of bag nestled at his side and elbows resting idly on the table.

Silence greets both of them and it…takes a lot of willpower, not to look up from the menu.

"Wally," Dick starts—voice as quiet as it'd been when it was a plea, and tiny as it was when they were kids. It's that change again—watching as Dick morphs from the image Wally used to have of him to what's been there, then…then now. "Please?"

_Please, what?_Wally lowers the menu. He's leaning against the seat, head pressed close to the wall and eyes wavering to the point not even _he_ trusts himself. Dick sits on the other side, expression stern, eyes hardened, and eyebrows furrowed. With an insufferable frown that looks almost like a pout.

Maybe it's the way the light hits the contour of his face, or the way those blue eyes sparkle, but the way Dick glows _almost_ makes him look like that little kid again, that doesn't know how many people he can twist, and is oblivious to the most common of things.

"You got rid of the cape," Wally says quietly. It's the first intelligent thing to come to mind and yet somehow it still sounds incredibly stupid.

"First thing I got rid of." Dick offers a half smile. He's sitting on his calves and leaning forward with his body sprawled all over the table. There's relief in the way he talks, and color flutters across his pale flesh, eyes gleaming intensely in front of Wally.

"Yeah," Wally whispers. He looks down to his menu again, conversation lost.

Dick apparently doesn't feel the same way. "I'm sorry."

Wally's hand grips the menu.

"Wally, I…" Dick's voice trails off. "I don't want to lose you as my friend."

It's a lot easier than Wally realizes, to not look Dick in the face. He reminds himself how frustrated he is, with the way Dick talks to people nowadays, or the way both Dick and Bruce and—_everyone else_ think they know what's best for him.

Dick hasn't given up, though. "Wally, I don't want to lose _you._"

"Why are you here, Dick?" Wally can't help himself now. His voice is as raw as the person sitting in front of him, and purely frustrated. He looks up, finding Dick in that childish position with half his body covering the table and elbows digging into the marble surface, and that face, troubled and…troubled. "Why did you stop me in the alley? Why didn't you just let me go?"

It's when Wally expects to hear, _Do you want to leave?_ but it's that look—that twinkle in the glitter of Dick's eyes that isn't quite there yet, but trying so _hard_, and Dick leans in his seat, head bowed. For a moment, he…looks like that little kid again, with his gangly hands tangled together and shoulders hunched to his ears. He says it again. "Because I can't afford to lose you."

_From the team?_ Wally opens his mouth to vocalize. Dick puts a hand up, furiously shaking his head.

"Not from the team," he mutters. "from my life. Wally, I'm…I...I…if you take another step, I'll…_never_ be able to catch up. To find you."

_What_?

"I…haven't been the same. I know. Not since Artemis's death." Dick shakes his head and crosses his arms. He leans back in his chair, back pressed against the booth as he looks to Wally but those blue eyes are thinking of something else. Focusing on something entirely different.

Thinking back.

"You were team leader at the time." Wally looks down to his own two hands and he tries to keep them from trembling. To…keep them from remembering fiery brown eyes, that impish grin, and that tactless tongue. He closes his eyes, and tries to forget the blood. Forget the pain, those whispers, those hugs that just didn't _fit_ right. "And she came back. She finally..._finally_ came back. She betrayed us, and then…died as a fucking _hero._"

"Nothing less," Dick says quietly. "I took the penalty—"

"You shouldn't have."

"—because I was the leader. We all had reasons, Wally. But I…I _had_ to penalize myself for it. I was the leader, only _fourteen_ and she died on my watch. But," Wally opens his eyes soon enough to see Dick clench his fists. "You took it harder than anyone. Were a mess. And I…after that, I couldn't just joke with you, make kicks or be lighthearted about it. I had to be your leader before anything else."

It'd been what spawned the Incident.

"But you moved on." Dick smiled, but the way his eyes seemed—distant and away, Wally realized that Dick was partly talking to himself. Contemplating, recalling, and dwelling. "The team dispersed from that—not because the League disbanded us, but because without Artemis, it just didn't seem like a team. You worked with your uncle. Created achievements that the league applauded you for _far_ before you became the Flash, and I…most of the time I felt like I was on the sidelines watching you. I was so fucking _proud_ that you were able to become your own person and was so sure of yourself. I'm proud of you, Wally. I…I really am. Wally, I…"

There are those lilacs blooming in Dick's eyes, vibrant and humming as Dick finally snaps out of his stupor and looks back to Wally.

"I can't be that boy anymore," he says almost inaudibly. Dick's hands find his lap and he looks back down to the table. "When I look back at Robin, I'm wondering how the hell I could have been so _stupid_ and nearly gotten myself killed, and how irrational I'd been at the time. But I look at you—see how far away you've gotten since…the _Incident_, and…it's my fault."

There's a new quality Wally's never noticed before.

"There was this gap between us to begin with, that we both knew, but instead of severing our link or trying to get closer, it got bigger."

Dick is a leader. He's a natural at it, and after the years without Artemis, it's a quality Wally hadn't realized was so blatantly obvious.

"Until…you became the Flash, and you kept _moving on_, and creating a legacy of your own without the Flash."

Dick knows how to bark orders, compartmentalize, calculate an opponent's next move and make up words.

"And I couldn't help it. You've left me in the dust, and I thought…through what little we still had of our friendship, I could keep you here. With me." He also knows how to look around the room when he's nervous, or tap his foot when he's impatient, or bite his lip when he can't think of what to say. Because if it's anything Bats are horrible at, it's _talking._ And it's something you don't notice or never see—not unless you really know Dick, and if Dick really trusts you.

"You're an incredibly bad speaker," Wally says so suddenly, he doesn't even realize it. Dick is startled, eyes raising to see his reaction, and Wally almost chuckles. "You're really bad at this."

Dick blinks, and then pathetically twitches. "I'm trying."

This time, Wally can't help himself. He laughs, head tossed behind him—not horribly, but so freely and so good-naturedly.

And it hits him. For the past two years it's felt as though he's been the one trying to catch up to everyone else—to catch up to Uncle Barry, to jump the hurdles thrown at him by Dick, to reach the checkpoint and grab the baton the league has left him—only to let go of the one he's taken from Young Justice.

But outside of the track, it's not him who's running. Wally has tried running forward without looking back, and in return, Dick has been chasing him ever since.

Wally suddenly stops, and he notices those blue eyes are staring at him, gleaming and lightening in his presence. Dick stares at him without really _judging_ him. And realization hits a second time because Wally realizes that in no way was that laughter bitter.

Out of everyone's approval, Dick's has always been on the top of Wally's list. He's wanted to prove to Dick that he's worthy even if he didn't believe in himself, and Dick has been watching him, _yearning_ to be right beside him. There isn't give-and-take in their relationship. Even in its darkest hour when it's felt that way, it's always been silence-and-sacrifice. Awkward Dick and hesitant Wally.

And Wally's okay with that.

"I'm sorry," Dick starts quietly, "that I kissed you. That I put being a leader before our friendship. That I put being…_Robin_ before being me. I don't…want to clip the ties with my loved ones. I don't want to be Batman."

It's the latter statement that makes Wally's chest harden. Dick is struggling with this apology—that much is apparent, but that's what makes it special. He's probably thought about what he would say, Wally realizes, but Dick hasn't rehearsed an apology. And sure as hell if he had, he certainly didn't remember the words for it.

Silence works its way at their booth. Wally wonders why their waitress hasn't arrived yet.

"I can't have you messing with my head again," Wally responds finally. He waits, and then hesitantly touches knees with Dick's. "If we're friends again, you can't treat me as a pawn."

Dick looks up. It's…that look again, incredulous and disbelieving. He may be one who believes in compartmentalizing, who just said he could never go back to being Robin, but it's purely Dick, the way he wears his heart on his sleeve and…animates.

Wally's heart skips a beat. He checks the time and then stands up, almost forgetting the importance of today. "I may need your help on a case, actually. But not right now."

Dick looks mildly disappointed from the time lost (but, Wally realizes, he hasn't gotten a look of that caliber since Bruce refused letting Wally go to Gotham Academy when they were younger) and slowly nods. _Dedicatedly._ "Going somewhere?"

Wally halts, caught off guard by that look and having forgotten what he was doing. He forces himself to remember.

"Roy's house," he smiles softly. "It's his birthday today."

There's a way that Dick looks at him when Wally says that. His eyes gleam with that mischievous glint Wally remembers when they were a kid, followed by an odd twist of the lips that looks like neither a frown nor a smirk.

"What?" Wally asks, because it's purely instinct.

"Nothing," Dick says offhandedly. His arms are crossed and head is tilted to the side, like he's analyzing something that Wally can't quite conceptualize.

Wally's hair is a mess from blowing in the wind getting from state-to-state along with the mesh being forced under the Flash cowl, and he can't remember the last time he wore his own clothes. He pushes the sleeves over his elbows, anticipates, and waits. "Do you…want to come with me?"

Dick flicks his hand and they leave behind the booth just as the waitress finally gets to their table. Before Wally realizes it, he's down the diner next to his best friend and anticipating his next word. Dick only shakes his head. "I didn't know he was having a party."

"Just a few people," Wally quickly dismisses. He bows his head a little, chuckles, and holds the door open for Dick to follow out. It's that smile again that appears across his face—the one that curves upon his lips that Linda and the rest of his study group dubbed suitable across his face. "Dinah, Oliver. Lian, of course, because she's his daughter. We kind of forced him into one. It's a small party."

"You see him often?" Dick asks.

"Always," Wally confesses. Even before Dick quit being Robin, Wally made it an effort to visit Roy once every few weeks to check up on him. He'd originally done it to make sure Roy didn't have any mishaps with a three-day-old Lian (though that had done more harm than good, until Dinah intervened) and since then visited on occasion. He began making ticks with his fingers. "I make an effort to see Conner in the morning before school at least once a week. I…sometimes bring diapers to Roy because he rarely ever gets out of his house anymore. Once in a while I tell Arthur to say 'Hi' to Kaldur, but rarely ever do I get a 'Hi,' back, and then Megan—" Wally stops abruptly in the middle of the sidewalk, and has come to the realization that Dick's leading him back to the penthouse.

Dick stops right next to him, hands tucked neatly in his Princeton sweatshirt and eyes dimming slightly. His lips twitch, and he goes from being that awkward kid who can't speak to save his life to a leader. To a friend that's nearly family. "You're welcome at the Tower at any time."

"They don't like me." And seeing Wonder Girl after his slip-up with her name doesn't make the idea any easier.

"You don't like _them._"

"I don't like you _with_ them. Didn't." Wally's heart skips a beat as he realizes his own slipup again. He tucks his hands in the pockets of Roy's large hoodie, twists his foot, and stands parallel to Dick, eyes raised and hesitantly shakes his head. "They're not Young Justice."

"They're a team of heroes who are in the shadows of their mentors that meet up every weekend. Because there, they _aren't_ just sidekicks." Dick shakes his head and crosses his arms.

"You're not a sidekick anymore," Wally points out. His eyes examine Dick's lithe, tiny frame and deep blue orbs, and his heart flutters slightly.

"Neither are you." Dick smiles gently.

"You're not Robin anymore."

"And you're not a Kid."

There are specks, in those blue eyes. Wally used to spend relative hours waiting for Robin to finish talking, and count how many he could find that gleamed, when he would catch Dick without his sunglasses. It's been so long ago, he remembers quietly, and now he's looking at Dick at eye level.

"No," Wally agrees, and somehow he's gotten closer to Dick. Or Dick's gotten closer to him. "I'm not a kid anymore."

Their arms are touching.

"I should go," he whispers, and he pulls just slightly out of Dick's body, foot grazing the ground and sweatshirt bunching at his neck.

"Don't be a stranger." Dick's hand finds his own before Wally can truly move. It's hard to truly find it nowadays, but there is a glisten of hope through his eyes. "Okay?"

Wally's heart skips a beat. "Never."

He runs all the way to Roy's house, feeling lighter on his feet than he's had in years.

But his chest still hurts.

-x-


	5. Happy Birthday To

**Chapter 5: **Happy Birthday To…

Roy is actually home when Wally shows up.

It's a déjà vu that makes Wally's chest and stomach ache as the stench of sweat and sex hit his nose when Roy opens the door. The pit of his stomach clenches from the scent when he's let in, and his eyes gently graze the contour of Roy's tan chest. He catches himself quickly for once, eyes modestly darting back into themselves as the warmth flutters to his cheeks, and looks down to the ground when there's an excited, livid cry from Lian. She tosses the tv remote across the room (nearly haphazardly taking out her father by the leg) and half-craws, half-drags/half-crawls her way to Wally before he's even across the threshold.

Roy dodged the remote thrown his way and stares in surprise as it hits a kitchen cabinet with a more-than-subtle _THUD._ Wally tries not to laugh.

"She's got quite the arm," he remarks, then pulls Lian into his arms. Her thin hair has been pulled back messily from her eyes with a polka-dotted black and red bow and she's wearing a blue shirt. (Wally's learned very early on Roy isn't a good dresser when it comes to dealing with baby girls. It's kind of funny.) "Just like her father."

"Do you even _have_ upper body strength, Mister Runner?" Roy teases as he pulls out baby cereal.

Lian stretches out Wally's lower lip as he grins. "I could probably pick you up."

He gets a laugh in return. A loud one. "I'd like to see you try."

Wally blinks, eyebrow arched in the air with amusement before setting a protesting Lian back on the floor to retrieve her doll, then strides across the apartment into the kitchen.

"Wally, what are you—holy _shit_-what the _hell_-" Roy isn't the easiest thing to lift in the ground—granted he does a lot of heavyweight lifting. Wally pulls Roy into his arms like a bride, falters, and tightens his grip as he switches weight between his feet and leans into the counter.

He laughs. "You should be a bit more conscientious of your daughter. She might develop some of your habits."

Roy looks torn between clinging onto Wally for support and smacking him upside the head. He smirks, waving a foot in the air as his arms cross and turns his head. "My daughter is not influenced by my words, thank you very—oh god, what are you doing?"

"Taking a step forward," Wally insists. He pushes off the counter with an armful of Roy, stumbles to the right—stumbles to the left—_falters_, and—"Oof!"—topples over, feet catching into the carpet. Roy and he tumble across the living room floor in a fit of snickers, snorts, and laughs while Lian's in her own little corner, clapping and giggling.

Wally lands on his stomach, and Roy lands right next to him on his back. They both laugh.

"You're an idiot," Roy smirks.

Wally supports himself on his forearms, looks up, and collects a smile to his face. "You're more of an idiot for underestimating my strength."

It's…the way that Roy's eyes shine, whether or not he's smiling. The way they brighten whenever Lian's in the room, or the way he heartily chuckles that suddenly makes Wally feel youthfully aged. It's his tender gaze, as he wipes a speck of dust off Wally's face and arches an eyebrow like it's nothing, that makes the tips of Wally's toes tingle with anxiety.

Then it's the way Roy snickers, tosses on his belly, then looks Wally in the eye with a mischievous glint that just makes Wally want to grin. "You barely held me up. What was that, two seconds?"

"In my defense, two seconds is a long time, when it comes to me," Wally points. "And that's all the time you need to rescue a girl out of a burning building when you're me. I've got methods, other than _carrying_ people out of safety, you know."

"Excuses." Roy laughs, and somehow Lian manages to crawl all the way over to them and babbles insistently to be put on her father's back. Wally puts her there and she proceeds with yanking locks of cropped red hair.

"No, really," Wally says. He lies down, head to the wooden floor as he stairs at the boring white ceiling above him. "I'd be able to carry you. It's that extra stretch of speed, force versus force bringing you forward. You'd seem almost weightless. Babies can be a bit more of a hassle—but if you vibrate at the right frequency, they lull right to sleep before you give them to their m others"

"Is _that_ your secret handling Lian?" Roy props himself on an elbow and Lian proceeds with yanking at his ears. She squeals in acknowledgment. "And here I was going to ask you your secret method. Evidently I can't, because the one person who can get her to sleep is a Human Vibrator."

"Just to make it clear, you're making sex jokes about your _daughter._"

"I'm making sex jokes about _you._"

"Funny. Well," Wally scratches his head, looking to the other redhead from his peripheral. "There was that one time with my ex."

"Oh?" Roy arches an eyebrow of amusement.

Wally turns bright pink, green eyes darting anywhere but Roy's face as his head nestles against the wood. He crossed his arms, taking into consideration the odd grooves and curves that decorated the ceiling, then nestled tightly against the floor. "My first time."

Roy laughs. "Not good?"

"I, uh, don't have much to compare it to," Wally admits as his voice suddenly hikes an octave. He looks to Roy nervously, fidgets with the strings of his hoodie, then lets his lips twist oddly. "But I, um, realized that vibrating was kind of…innate, to me."

It takes a moment for Roy to figure it out, but once he does he sits up, quickly maneuvering Lian to his lap as he stares at Wally in stun. "You're a _human vibrator_."

"By accident," Wally says modestly. Though, he can't help but feel a little amused with the way Roy examines him, eyebrows high against his forehead and gaze calculative.

"You must have had girls _crawling_ all over you."

"It was why she dumped me." Wally can't remember her name, quite honestly. He's sure it's something like Rachel or Gwen. She was smart, but he was sure it'd been a month in the past sometime when Dick had another more-than-a-fight feud with Bruce and he zipped over to Gotham to check up on him.

When he looks over to Roy, he sees that analytic look again that Dick and Hal and Dinah all give him. Roy lays down, head against the floor as he sets a hand on his stomach. "Why did you date her?"

"She took my mind off of things." He remembers now. Wally sets his hands on his stomach, closes his eyes, and _remembers._ "Uncle Barry had just died a short few months before and I'd just taken on the mantle of the Flash. Didn't feel worthy." He opens one eye and sees Roy's staring right back at him. A hollow laugh leaves his throat. "Can't drink my sorrows, can't inflict pain on myself. Not that I'd sort to something that stupid, though. But dating her made it feel like…I wasn't the Flash. That I could just be a kid on the street."

Roy closes his eyes. Lian's trying to squirm out of his grip. "Do you ever regret it?"

"Always." Wally smiles, half bitter, half ever-so truthful as he looks up in the air and idly touches his head to Roy's. "Not saving people…it'd hurt more. I couldn't stand it if I couldn't help people."

Roy leans into his touch. "You're not a screw-up, you know."

Wally laughs, hands over his chest. He's suddenly remembering now, when Dick said that he was _proud_ of him.

"You're a good Flash," Roy says quietly, elbow touching Wally's. It tingles. "I'm proud of you."

Somehow it makes Wally's chest tingle tighter and clench more than Dick's words had. He sits up, looks down to the Roy whose eyelids are shut and hands are concentrated in Lian. A question comes to mind—one that he can't help but ask. "Roy?"

"Yup?"

"What happened to Cheshire?"

Roy turns his head to the side, eyes slowly opening to reveal those deep, ocean blue orbs, broad and yet still so quiet as they made contact with Wally's. He blinks, raising his head when Lian proceeds with pushing at his chin, then arches an eyebrow. "What do you mean?"

"It's—It's a little strange, is all." Wally looks over to the archer, unsure what he's uncovered by asking such a broad question. Now that it crosses his mind, he can't help but feel slightly guilty, but the piercing glance Roy shows him is anything but accusing. So he continues, "You…went on a mission last year that lasted around five months—not even _Ollie_ had contact with you. Then…you came back. I'd been so busy with league business, but then Dinah suddenly came up to me and said that you had a daughter. That…Cheshire was the _mother_ and you were a father."

He thinks about it—slowly and quietly, and then feels his heart wither.

Wally sits up from the ground and can't figure why his chest hurts to this extent. "It hurt," he says mutely, fingers picking at the loose strings of his pants, "Because in those two years, I'd…lost contact with you. So much had changed, and I was afraid that…you…had…changed…" That Roy saw him in a different light—the bad light, that Wally was so sure Dick once saw him in.

It surprises him when Roy touches him by the shoulder. Wally's throat goes dry, and he's wondering, _where is this all coming from?_ At the time it didn't hurt, but now, with the fear that he could have lost Roy so easily… he isn't quite sure.

"You and I haven't changed." Roy palms him gently and passes Lian over casually before getting up. He surprises Wally further when he leaves the room and returns with a small picture frame, holding it blithely in front of Wally.

Wally hesitates before grabbing the photo and observing it. Roy, and this young Asian woman with wild black hair, a creamy tan and the must cunning smile he's ever seen. He can only guess that the woman's Cheshire. They're posing, and judging from the clothes the picture had been a souvenir left over from an undercover mission, and there's a way Roy's constructed that smile that he still looks undeniably happy.

Roy notices that Wally notices. "Her real name is Jade."

Lian grabs the photo with great interest and proceeds with putting it in her mouth. 'Jade's' head doesn't have a chance as she gets devoured between her daughter's tiny lips.

"It started out as a mission," Roy says, and he takes a spot on the couch, eyes glazed with the past burning behind his orbs. "An undercover mission to see what the Light and the League of Shadows were dealing with. She and I had had encounters, and once or twice had an alliance to get what we wanted. Jade wasn't incredibly good, but she wasn't entirely a villain, either."

"You used her as a link to get information," Wally realizes. He gently pulls the frame out of Lian's mouth, rubs baby saliva off the glass, and stares carefully at the picture. Chesh—Jade—looks happy.

"She was everything in a woman that I hated. Cunning. Sly. Deceiving. And it was just _incredibly_ sexy." Roy smirks slightly—bitterly, Wally realizes, as he shifts Lian uncomfortably over his lap—and then he leans over, gaze never leaving Lian's. "We were in a relationship, but I wasn't in love with her."

"Then why be in a relationship with her?" Wally's eyebrows furrow. It doesn't make sense.

"Why were you in that relationship with that girl from your college?" It's a rhetorical question. But—_So I could forget about Dick_-is an answer at the tip of Wally's tongue and itching to leave. Roy looks to Wally from the corner of his eye, red brow raised in the air, but obviously not expecting an answer.

Wally withers slightly as he looks back to Lian.

"I wanted a relationship with her. Badly. But for all the wrong reasons." Roy runs a hand through his hair and relaxes against the chair, expression at peace. "Jade is still alive and well. But she didn't want Lian to be exposed to…_her world._"

The couch sags, as Wally sits down next to Roy, Lian in his lap and happily sucking on one of his fingers. He tilts his head and looks to Roy. Looks for the regret, the bitter agony, or the twisted realization, but at best Roy's demeanor has twisted with bittersweet amusement.

"Roy," Wally starts quietly, another question at the tip of his tongue, "I'm..." He doesn't know what to say. "Dick and I made up. Just before I came here."

He almost misses the way Roy closes his eyes, hand pressed against his lips as the other man swells in his own thoughts. "Good."

And then he asks the question. "Why…did you move on then? Why break up with Chesh—Jade, when you have a daughter, can support yourself, and be a family? Why…" Wally looks back down to Lian. He still can't remember that girl's name, or what color her eyes are or how long her hair was. And unlike Roy, he doesn't have a picture of her in his attempt to move on, either. "Why haven't you told me, even once, just to give up on Dick?"

Right now he's not sure how he feels. He still sees the vibrant lilacs in Dick's eyes, blooming softly in the spring. He sees that smile no one else gets to see, and gets the look he's never shared with anyone else.

Roy shrugs. "Because then I'd be a hypocrite."

Half the explanation sounds as though Roy's just talking about the weather. The other half, Wally realizes gently as he looks to the corner of his eye, sounds as though Roy's said those words so many times in his head that it's been rehearsed. This entire conversation, like Roy knows Wally knows he's confusing himself.

There's a way Roy looks under the glow of Star City's light. Wally's noticed it before, he realizes, but he's never taken the time to analyze it.

The way…that Roy's skin is a deep caramel, screaming of warmth—which is kind of funny because Wally can't remember the last time he himself went outside and didn't get the worst sunburn of his life.

The way Roy's eyes are that deep ocean blue, with little freckles that seem to lighten whenever he sees his daughter.

The way the bridge of Roy's nose is so structured, smooth, and sculpted that it brings an allure whenever the man tilts his head to the side.

The way the contour of Roy's jaw is so deep that it draws eyes in whenever he speaks.

The way Roy begins a sentence—garish and authoritative even if he's being calm.

The way when Roy looks to Wally, Wally can't help but feel his toes curl with anticipation. _Anticipation of what_?

The way when Roy looks at Wally, Wally feels like they're the only two people in the room (even if they really are.)

The way whenever Wally looks back, he leans forward just slightly so he can get into Roy's warmth, wrists touching.

"Roy," Wally says quietly, but he can't bring himself to say another sentence. He wants to lean further, _further_ into Roy's warmth until…until he can anticipate something else that happens. It's the way his toes are curling and how his stomach flops—how that night weeks ago when he walked into Roy's room, crawled into his bed, and just wanted to _be_ with Roy.

And with the relative seconds that pass by, where Wally can seriously get a frame-by-frame of his time-frozen archer? He's half-kinda laughing, and half-kinda wondering how Roy can get him this speechless and mesmerized, considering the last sentence Roy'd murmured had the word _hyprocite_ in it.

He wants that feeling again; where he crawled into Roy's bed and felt his heart calm down yet speed up at the same time.

"Yeah?" Roy asks—sweet and not as wary as he would have been if he was eighteen again and Wally was fifteen.

"I…" Wally wants that feeling.

"You feeling alright?"

Wally wants _Roy_ to give him that feeling. "H-Hold…still…for a moment…please?"

"Uh, 'kay?"

Wally wants to talk to Roy's silences. Wally wants to see Roy smile. Wally wants to hear Roy laugh. Wally wants to memorize every little speck that sparkles in Roy's eyes. Wally wants his heart to flutter, in the way Dick could never quite get it to. Wally wants Roy to cause his heart to flutter.

He…wants to—

The door opens wide.

Wally jumps back in surprise, seeing both Dinah and Ollie over his shoulder, and suddenly all the thoughts he's just had are back in his mind, buried so deep that he forgets about them. "Uh—hi."

"Hey," Dinah grins. She pulls Lian in her grasp and Ollie pats Roy on the shoulder.

"Happy 22nd Birthday, kiddo." Ollie chuckles lightly. "You're getting old."

"At least _I_ can make do without the beard." Roy smirks.

Avoiding eye-contact with his once-mentor and his once-mentor's girlfriend, Wally turns his head back to Roy. Roy hasn't moved from his spot, and only offers him a mild look of concern. Like…what had just happened never happened.

_You okay?_ Roy mouths to him when neither Dinah or Ollie are looking.

Wally hesitates, then nods. He mouths back, _Yes._

He's never realized how much it hurt before; lying so boldly in Roy's face. 

**-x-**

Roy doesn't get particularly drunk, when it comes to his birthday.

They go to a small, fancy Italian restaurant that makes Wally think of Lady and the Tramp (which is somewhat convenient, considering he's feeding Lian spaghetti one noodle at a time) with fancy music in the background, odd lighting that would probably come off as romantic, and three waiters that have the Italian mustache that tempt Wally to be that fifteen-year-old boy who would make a snide comment, elbow Roy in the arm, and snicker as Roy rolls his eyes. It's amidst the amusement that Wally realizes again that it's been _ages_ that he's been this relaxed.

And Roy looks nice. Aside from the muscle shirts and sweats Wally seems to _always_ catch him in, Roy looks good in the suit Dinah's forced him into, along with his hair neat. With…out the sweat, slick across his chest and the scent of sex, or…the trim line above his navel that slickly leads all the way down to the tufts of—

Wally chokes on his Zesti and feels his cheeks simmer with heat.

Dinah pats on his shoulder in confusion, low whistle escaping her lips as she tilts her head to the side and arches an eyebrow. "Drink more than you can handle, Wally?"

"I—uh," Wally's cheeks burn, and he doesn't miss the way Roy glances toward him, tearing away from his conversation about the quality of arrows, amusement clearly written over his face before grabbing a handkerchief and wiping the small trail of Zesti that trails down the crease of his lip.

"You're such a child," Roy laughs.

"I—" His confidence dwindles, cheeks permeating with the sensation of Roy's touch, and then looks down to his own lap. "Erm."

Luckily, Lian takes that exact moment to start crying. She wails, whimpers, fists thrown into the air and fidgets uncomfortably in her seat, and instinctively Roy stands up to grab her from the high chair. Wally stands up, too, out of instinct from his many days spent at Roy's house before rushing off to the Watchtower—and freezes.

Two pairs of eyes look at him as Roy does an inspection of his daughter. Red flutters across the nape of Wally's neck and—in truth, it shouldn't be as embarrassing as it really feels as Dinah and Ollie stare at them. Wally feels small standing next to Roy in such a way, along with self-conscious.

"She needs a diaper change," Roy says with a melodramatic sigh. He smiles slightly, putting her in that same hold that makes Lian seem like a baby doll compared to her father, and grabs the baby bag. HIs eyes meet with Wally's for a brief second—one that's entirely long and stretches for _ages_-and he laughs quietly. "Just wait and eat, Wally. Don't worry."

"But I—" Don't need to make a bigger scene than he currently is.

Wally collapses in his chair hesitantly, arms dangling at his side. He looks from the corner of his eye as Roy walks up, feels his joints go numb, and knows that both Dinah and Ollie are staring at him.

It's a surprise when that delicately callused hand brushes the hair out of his eyes and pushes them above his head. "How you feeling?"

"A little…" Wally sucks in a breath and sinks into his chair, tie loosening at his neck. "A little disconcerted, I…I guess." He's not quite sure what to make of the smile that graces Dinah's lips, nor the soft chuckle that bellows from the back of Ollie's throat.

It's…funny, he thinks, as Ollie crosses his arms and leans back in his own seat. Being the Flash means seeing many of your "colleagues" and fellow leaguers at the Watchtower, but seeing _Roy_ means occasionally running into Ollie and Dinah. Dinah watches Lian when she gets the time so Roy can be by himself, and Ollie drops by to have dinner with his old partner once in a while.

Really, Dinah and Ollie just…make him think of Aunt Iris and Uncle Barry. In an almost bittersweet way.

"Something on my face?" Wally's throat goes dry.

Ollie only quirks a small smile. "Billions of freckles, kid."

Wally fidgets. He really doesn't like it when people call him—

Dinah elbows Ollie in the arm—harshly. Like she knows Ollie's not making it any easier on himself, and then suddenly she's sitting straight in her seat, hands fiddling with the fancy way her hair's pinned, and smiles. "You look happier."

"Really?" Because inside, Wally's quite sure his chest is squirming from his indecision and nervousness. His cheeks dust with sheepishness and he can't help but fidget in his seat. Oddly enough now he feels like the high school boy taking out the parents' little princess to prom.

"Not your happiest," she says gently, like she's lightheartedly analyzing him, "but definitely happier. More secure. At first I would have thought you would be using Roy as a source of relief, but just looking at you _now…_"

"I just like visiting him," Wally confesses. The atmosphere suddenly changes and he smiles, much more secure and less self-conscious now that Roy's eyes aren't gazing at him in the way that makes his skin tickle. He tilts his head to the right ever-so slightly and shrugs. "Roy's always offered me stability. I could…turn to Dick for comfort, but I've always felt that I could _run_ to Roy if I ever needed…anything."

For a moment he only blinks, hearing his own confession thoroughly through his own ears. His cheeks burn as red as his hair in surprise, and Ollie only brightens. "Quite a broad statement, isn't that, Wally?"

"It's…I…" Wally swallows hard and tilts his head to the side. "Er. Yeah."

"Bruce just put you on a new case, didn't he?" Dinah asks, charitably changing the subject as she obviously notices the glow to Wally's pale cheeks. She rests her head on her hand, lets the corner of her lip raise and fully gives him her attention. "He's been coming to the Watchtower less and less. Not only that, but I'm pretty sure the Teen Titans have been getting into more trouble these days without Robin as their leader."

"He goes by Nightwing now." Wally can't help himself, as that sliver of information leaves his mouth. A different expression crosses Ollie and Dinah's faces at the mention of Dick now, and he can't help but feel as though he's caused an elephant to appear in the room.

"You see him recently?" Ollie asks as if he's treading wary territory.

"We made up right before I came." Evidently from the way both Dinah and Ollie gaze at him, it's the wrong thing to say. Wally perseveres, leaning forward to initiate the rest of the conversation, and raises his head to meet eyes with his old combative mentor. "He explained everything to me, and…we're going to be working together on the case Bruce has got me on—"

"To piss the big guy off?" Ollie lets out a long, drawn out whistle, but somehow that look of disapproval looks more for Wally than for Nightwing.

In that instant, Wally hitches from his ministrations, eyes looking to the elder archer in surprise. The thought crosses his mind that Dinah and Ollie are watching his every action, and he sinks carefully in his seat. "We work well together."

"He's like a mini-Bats, Wal—"

"He's _not_." Wally winces, knowing that he's used that declaration himself only a few weeks ago, and vehemently shakes his head. His eyebrows knit together with disbelief—_why is this an interrogation?_ "He's my best friend. Wally and Dick, Dick and Wally? We work well together and nothing more."

"And nothing more," Dinah repeats. He doesn't like where this conversation is going—and knows very well, where it's going to end up. It doesn't make sense how the conversation heads in this direction, and for some reason, Wally doesn't want to hear it today.

Right now, being reminded that Dick is nothing more than the bouquet of lilacs that smothers Wally's senses makes him feel weak. Dick's gaze, so anticipating and hopeful today for the first time in years, so _free_ makes his heart flutter, and it doesn't feel as though his feelings have dragged on for ages with no cause, no reason.

When Dick talks to him, it doesn't feel like a violent kick to the stomach. It doesn't feel like he's the one that's been left behind, or that he's running a race that will never end because these past three years, Dick has been chasing _him._

"You've been happy with the time you spent with Roy, sweetheart." The warmth swells in Dinah's tone, but as they reach Wally's ears they don't quite reach his heart. Not in the way they should. "But…this devotion to Dick, even after what's happened in the past—we just don't want to see you get hurt again."

There's a tenderness to Dinah's words that's etched with an uncomfortable chill Wally can't allow himself to succumb to. He looks to Dinah—her pretty face, behind that seductive allure that makes him think of Aunt Iris, and the gentleness of her tone that ironically makes her as harmless as a butterfly.

He's…been told so many times, directly and indirectly, to give up on his feelings for Dick. He shouldn't love Dick—at least, not in the way that feels like a rib is digging into his painstakingly beating heart.

But no one realizes it, do they? No one, but maybe Roy. Giving up feelings for someone who knows every one of your habits—your tendencies…your weaknesses…it's hard. It's really, really hard to give up someone who knows you so well. Hard not to devote yourself to that one person you feel in your heart you can protect better than anyone and vice versa. Hard not to be their best friend. Harder, not to fall in love with them.

But he's given up hope for reciprocation a long, _long_ time ago.

Standing from his seat, Wally grabs his comm.-link out of instinct from its spot at the bottom of his pocket and uses it—just to spite them. "Dick, this is Wally."

There's a crackle, a buzz, and a crackling zap that catch Wally off guard because he would have thought Dick might've turned in his comm.-link, too, to severe connections fully with Bruce. _"W…Wally?"_

And at that very moment, Wally's heart drops. "Dick? _Dick_, where are you?"

Dick's voice is raspy—sore, and _broken_, and Wally knows that voice nearly inside and out. Robin never broke, when it came to his duty, but when he sustained such intense injuries, he'd be beaten to the core. _"I'm—__**a-agh**__—f-fine. Look, this really i…isn't a good time—"_

"I'll be there," Wally says, and right now he absolutely hates himself for reading all of those medical books and…imagining worst case scenario. Broken ribs, broken nose, blood pooling in a large, gaping and bleeding hole on the shoulder. Dislocated jaw, eye out of place—"Where are you?"

_"Wally—_"

"**Dick,**" Wally's voice wavers, and he barely registers the fact that he's worked up both Ollie and Dinah, too. "Please…just…tell me."

_"…at the corner on 145th and Nightingale, near the lib—"_

Wally rushes out the dining hall, quickly doing a check in his head of all the streets in Gotham. He nearly runs over a waiter as he propels the Flash suit out of the ring—and catches more than a glimpse of Roy as Roy exits the bathroom, bewildered expression on his face.

It's easier for Wally to see a frame-by-frame of Roy's imagine, than it is for Roy, who's probably seeing a scarlet blur whir out the restaurant across the country to Gotham City.

There's that bewilderment on Roy's face in the second glance. Wally doesn't know why he looks over his shoulder as he leaves to see Roy's face, but he does. There's unsettlement gracing Roy's face, followed by a quick understanding that…Wally knows, means that Roy's probably dismissing his behavior. That Roy's concluded that Wally's left to attend matters ascertaining to Dick.

The thoughts flutter back about what Wally said to Ollie. Dick has his back on just about any situation, and Wally can turn to him again for assurance. Roy…Wally can run to Roy and always get _strength._

Dick is soothing. Roy is structure.

He pulls the stunning red cowl that suddenly feels too big for a little boy who can't seem to understand his own thoughts overhead, and quickens his pace toward Gotham.

Tries incredibly hard not to look back at the empty look on Roy's face.


End file.
